Torn
by Yo-yo
Summary: Rory and Lane are living in Paris the city, not person when they bump into the most unlikely of characters a banquet. TRORY! REVISED CHAPPIES 17
1. A Serendipity Moment without John Cusack

Torn -By Yo-yo 

Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls, if I did, well I'd be bathing with my six pool boys that closely resemble Colin Farrell and Vin Diesel and Ryan Phillipe and Seth Green and Brandon Boyd and AJ McLean, and well, ya' know how that goes!

Torn:

Gazing before her, dawn's rosy fingers barely peeked over the horizon, hardly illuminating the dark sky. The once alive streets were now abandoned, and the twinkling lights were now extinguished. Last night's rain had drowned the cobblestone streets, leaving a glistening film for the morn.

Jogging steadily down the familiar path, she smiled and waved to fellow joggers and friendly shopkeepers. Advancing down the lane, she grabbed a lily from a bouquet without missing a step. Smiling to Pierre, the florist, she blew him a kiss and continued.

The romantic ambiance of the city was amplified by the gothic arcitecture and the very European style. Letting go of her surroundings, she let Brandon Boyd's voice drown in her brain. The serene sound of Incubus consumed her being as she progressed down the avenue.

Suddenly she ran into a very solid, very firm pedestrian.

"Oh, sorry," she smiled throwing up her arms.

Looking up, she found herself staring into cold, steely gray eyes. The man regarded her so callously, she almost forgot who she was.

"Do you know what you've just done?" he asked, his voice deep and intimidating.

Collecting herself, she found her voice again. Shedding the flabbergasted look, she plastered one of nonchalance and smiled at him.

Glancing behind him, she saw a very tight circle of men with the same threatening look on their hard faces. They surrounded one tall man as he escaped the confines of the large luxury car.

Her smile became genuine as she recognized him. His large broad shoulders were covered in a long, tweed pea coat with a matching sash around his slim waist. Underneath she knew he was hiding a dancer's slim yet muscular build, and long strong limbs. His big round almond eyes were an intense azure with flecks of gold glittering in them. He had the bone structure of a man, yet with the softened features that woman went wild for. His lush, golden hair was cut close to his scalp and slicked back with gel.

She'd known him long ago, in a whole different world and a whole different time. His character helped shape her in her own, and his personality repelled her from others like him. In some ways he was her savior, and others he was her demise.

"Well, you aren't Queen Elizabeth, or President of the United States, or the President of France (A/N: I'm not exactly sure what kind of a government system France lives in, but my brother confirmed my guess. So if I'm wrong, blame him!), so I guess no one important," she answered.

"Well, you've just 'bumped' into the newly appointed overseas attorney of the United States," he smiled smugly.

"Really!" she gasped faking enthusiasm; it was already in all the papers that he would be arriving soon.

"Yes."

Walking right past him, she penetrated the center of the circle where the young man stood. "Hey, M. DuGrey, I hope you have a good time here in Paris. Adieu," she grinned before placing her headphones over her ears and dashing away.

* * *

"I think I've having a 'Serendipity' moment, minus John Cusack and the whole sappy love story thing."

"What happened?"

"I haphazardly-"

"Ooooh, SAT word!"

"I ran into someone I knew at Chilton."

"Who was it, Jesus?"

"Mom, Jesus didn't go to Chilton," she replied condescendingly, "he went to Around the Corner High."

"I was hoping that you'd get accepted there, but you were just so dumb! I guess I had to settle on Chilton. That was the only place that would accept you."

"Anyway, about the Serendipity moment."

"Wait, you had a Serendipity moment without John Cusack? What have I taught you?"

"Don't have sex with a man unless he pays you in advance."

"What else?"

"Boys are stupid, throw rocks at them!"

"Yeah, and about John Cusack."

"Don't have any moments synonymous with John Cusack's movies unless he is there. Then ask him can he be your daddy, because your mom will do anything, and she means 'Anything', for him," she deadpanned.

"Exactly."

"But I thought that offer went out when you married Luke?"

"Ha! I'd leave Luke in a second for John Cusack, especially in 'Say Anything' or 'High Fidelity'."

"Be careful, he might hear you."

"He already did. Babe, I gotta' go and convince him that I was lying. Wink wink, nudge nudge."

"Whatever."

"Tell me your news tonight, or call me at work."

"Sure, love you."

"Back at ya' babe."

* * *

"So, have you enjoyed your time here, M. DuGrey?"

"I just flew in this morning actually, but I've got a couple of days to get settled in before I am officially on the job, so I plan to do a lot of sightseeing and testing out the local cuisine."

"There have been many women approaching you. I wonder which one you will take home tonight." An older man winked at the young man.

"You must be corrected, to my hotel room, or shall I just say my hotel bed." He grinned, his eyes surveying the large room, or specifically the Young Women in the large room.

"In all the years that I've known you DuGrey, I've never heard of you in a serious relationship, and yet every night you permit another young woman into your bed."

"That's because in all the years that you've known me all I've ever met were women who wanted to get into my bed."

"And a DuGrey never disappoints."

"No he doesn't."

"Will you ever settle down?"

* * *

She ran her fingers through her hair and smiled at the little anecdote. Casually glancing around the room she noted many conversations that she'd rather be participating in than the news of Bernard Laurent's little nephew. Granted the story was cute, but also uninteresting.

That was the problem with being a journalist at these sorts of events. So many important people want to accost you and divulge the latest gossip, but when it came down to the real stories, they had no comment.

She was bored.

Not so bored that she would high-tail out of there in moments, but bored enough to tune out Mme. Chevalier's fake laugh and M. Laurent's falsetto impersonation of his sister.

Glancing around the large ballroom, she felt her head throb from the constant glares of diamonds glittering from the women. Everyone was dressed to display all their wealth shamelessly. The women dressed in elaborate gowns, sometimes more obscene than beautiful, and men in striking tuxedos, showing all sharp lines and no real beauty.

This was a milieu that she didn't and never wished to belong to.

She herself had opted for the simple stylish little black dress. It's length swept the bottom of her knees and it's high neck stopped at her collarbone in a horizontal line, held together by two spaghetti straps. Around her neck was a modest string of pearls, and on her feet were simple pumps with an ankle strap. She'd flat-ironed her hair, giving her the Jennifer Aniston look, and only smeared on a very sheer pink lipstick.

Finally finding the object of her fascination, she politely excused herself from the small group and made her way through the crowd.

Smiling and introducing herself to people as she passed them, she couldn't help think that this was a very great turnout. But then of course who would have thought otherwise. Not only was this a party for the American attorney, but this was also a party for the very YOUNG, very HANDSOME American attorney, and many of the people there had young daughters his age looking for husbands.

"Lane, thank God I found you! Man, I've been so bored, I need some intelligent conversation!" she grinned wrapping her arms around her best friend's neck.

"I. . . I can't give ya'. . . intelligent conversation if I'm dead," Lane managed prying Rory's arms from around her neck.

"Hey, me talking rapidly to your dead corpse would be a lot more intelligent than some of the conversations I've had today."

"Man, you're just a ray of sunshine today aren't you?" she grinned.

Rory looked at her best friend's outfit. She looked beautiful. Her usually straight, jet-black hair was cradled in beautiful waves, hanging over her shoulders, and framing her beautiful face. She was wearing a red knee-length dress with a black cardigan. On her feet were sensible black pumps, and she had a small beaded necklace with a cross around her neck.

"I like the 'fit."

"Well I was going to do the Bijork thing and get the Swan dress, but I thought it was too subtle, so I decided on this."

"Well it's very-"

"And it won't make me look like a total idiot when I wear it under my white jacket."

"Ah," she said knowingly while letting her eyes graze the banquet.

"I don't know what's up, but I'm having a very 'Matrix' moment right now."

"What are you talking about?"

"That guy, the American, I feel like I've met him before, or at least have seen him."

"Don't worry, there's no glitch in the matrix, you have, in fact, met him before," she smiled as they both stared at the object of discussion.

"From where?"

"Chilton."

"Chilton?"

"Yes, although you have known him under such aliases as Evil One, Satan, Romeo, etcetera, etcetera."

"Oh my God, that's Tristan DuGrey?"

"No?" Rory said feigning shock.

At that moment, Tristan turned to meet the eyes of both his spectators.

Not bothering to look away, they conversed conspiratorially, "Man, was he that hot in high school?"

"No, and he isn't hot now!"

"Says none other than Ms. Oblivious, Rory Gilmore."

"Hey, I'm not oblivious, he's just not my taste."

"Whatever. At the current moment, your type should be anyone that breathes."

"Whatever," she mocked, then a frown appeared on her face, "I've got to interview him."

"Really? Can I come?"

"Lane, I don't think Dave would enjoy that."

"Oh who cares what Dave thinks?"

"You used to."

"Shut up!" she scowled.

* * *

Tristan watched from a distance as the two young women obviously talked about him. He plastered one of those adorable smirks on his infamous lips and watched as they animatedly argued.

He found the two girls very interesting. For one, they openly talked about him, not even trying to hide it as they stared at him and he stared back. Another thing was the way that they looked at him. They looked just as interested in him as he was in them.

And the final thing was the girl with a blue eyes.

He'd met her before he was sure. Maybe not her exactly, but those eyes, he'd met them before definitely. They were the most mysterious set of blue. As he gazed in the deep pools of sapphire, he felt his mind retreat to another time, in another place with these same exact set of blue orbs. He knew this person, he may not remember whom exactly, but those eyes were unforgettable. He couldn't recall a name, or a city, but that wasn't unusual with a beautiful young woman. The only thing that he knew was that it wasn't the first time that those eyes had held his, and the weirdest thing was, they seemed to tell him that this wouldn't be the last.

"DuGrey, Monsieur DuGrey," a voice said penetrating his thoughts.

"Huh?" he asked blinking.

"I said would you like some champagne?" Jackson asked noticing the direction of his friends gaze.

"Oh," he said returning to earth, "Sure."

* * *

A shrill beep penetrated their world and both women looked down. Unclipping the beeper from her skirt, Lane read the message.

"Babe, I gotta' go. My shift starts in half an hour and I gotta' get clear across town."

"Ok."

"Uh, I should be home before you wake up, it's not a real shift or anything. And remember you've got a date with my band tomorrow night!"

"Yeah."

"Tell Adrien and Fred I said bye," she smiled and with a wink she added, "and maybe Tristan."

"You're an idiot!" Rory grinned.

"Goodnight."

"Bonsoir." She sighed, kissing Lane on both cheeks.

"Adieu." She grinned kissing her forehead and left.

Standing there for a moment, she felt the wave of boredom drench over her again. But looking up she spotted Adrien through the circular windows of the kitchen and headed towards him.

"Hey Adrien, when are you gunna' put that mixing bowl down and dance with me?" she grinned as she entered the work area.

"Lorelei, bonne fete, oui?" he asked, his eyes twinkling as he set down the bowl.

"Very boring. Lane just left. I want to dance," she sighed with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Ok. Yves, finis pour moi."

"Merci," she grinned grabbing his hand. "Thanks."

Running out of the kitchen, they both began dancing lively to the next song.

* * *

Unknown to both, was the set of azure eyes watching.

"Do you know her?"

"No," he replied unconscious of Jackson's knowing smile.

"Would you like to?"

"Yes," he replied way too fast, "Do you know her?"

"She's American. She recently took residence in France three years ago with the other woman that you saw. Her name is Lorelei Gilmore. She is a Journalist."

"Wait, what was that name?"

"Lorelei Gilmore!"

"Mary?" he whispered under his breath.

TBC . . .

A/N: great cliffhanger isn't it? Better be happy that I already wrote chapter 2 or you'd have to wait. R&R pweeeez!

W/ luv,

Yo-yo


	2. Dismembering A Certain Appendage

Torn -By Yo-yo 

Disclaimer: C 1st chappy

A/N: Hey, hope you guys like this one I like writing these. ULTIMATE ROWING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Torn II:

Ring, Ring! The loud bell rang throughout the large apartment.

Almost simultaneously the loud barks of a very large dog erupted through the large metal door.

"Damnit!" she groaned as she slammed back into reality. "Lane if this is Dave, I swear I'll dismember him of a certain appendage!"

Padding her way towards the door, she tried to block out the dogs loud barking, but soon her head was pounding from the racket.

"Shut up Mocha!" she yelled as she continued past the living room and finally made it to the large metal door.

The barking didn't stop as she opened the door, and turned towards the kitchen. "Hey Dave," she yawned not even bothering to look up.

He stared at her as she walked away from him. She looked so cute just clad in a tight, red tank and matching plaid boxers. Her long legs and arms were glistening with sweat as she struggled to wake herself. Her cute little feet stumbled almost drunkenly around the well-known room as she went to the coffeepot. Her long chocolate tresses with honey brown highlights were pulled into two braided rows on her head with the shorter tresses sticking out. Her eyes were still heavy-lidded with sleep, hiding the most beautiful of her features.

"I'm sorry Mary, but I'm not your boyfriend," he replied.

"Tristan?!" she gasped, spinning around.

"Hey Mary, how's it going?" he grinned, suddenly aware of how his body ached to hold her at this moment.

As if reading him perfectly, she dashed across the room and crushed herself against his chest, her arms wrapped firmly around his neck. Taking it as an invitation, he wrapped his own arms around her torso and pulled her to him tightly.

"Oh God, I've missed you so much," she breathed not ready to let go yet.

"I've missed you too."

"Man, senior year in Hell wasn't the same without you. I had no one to bicker with, except Paris, and well, no one deserved that."

"Hey, I'd rather Paris than Drill Sergeants."

"No you wouldn't if she were Pres. and you were VP."

"Really?" he grinned finally pulling away.

"Yeah, she roped me into it after a panic attack."

Letting go, she let her arms fall back to her sides, but her eyes rested on his beautiful face.

Under her scrutiny, he could feel his face grow hot. Turning for a second, he tried to find words to say to her. Words that would take her eyes from him and let his heart and his breathing return to normal again.

"So, um, ya' gunna' let me in?"

_Lame Tristan, real lame_, he groaned to himself. _You haven't seen her since Junior year of high school and you still can't come up with something better than that? What did they teach you in Oxford?_

"Yeah, sure," she smiled opening the door wider.

Entering the large apartment, he found one large, lofty room, separated by the four corners into four separate rooms. They were very, Rory, but then again, not. In the large sitting area was a large fireplace. Facing it was a couple of large overstuffed, very comfortable couches with a surplus of throw pillows. On the wall adjoining the fireplace hung a large, flat-screened TV with a small wooden desk that revealed a DVD player and VCR inside. On the dark hardwood floor laid a large Native American rug with a stylish coffee table sitting atop it. Next to each couch were matching nightstands with matching monkey lamps sitting atop them.

On the opposite corner was the dining room. It was pretty impressive for such a relaxed setting. The large windows were opened as the light spilled into the room. In the middle stood a huge, cherry table with a long, cranberry piece of material running down the middle with a bowl of fruit sitting on top of it. Beautiful cranberry colored chair covers covered the large, straight-backed chairs. On the exposed brick walls were black and white photos by an unknown artist. A spotless white rug was placed under the table, making the entire room look elegant, save the candlelight chandelier helped to set the ambiance too.

At another corner of the room was the kitchen and breakfast nook. The kitchens appliances were all black, but everything else was a splash of color. On the "wall" that separated the kitchen from the dining room sat a large . . . cupboard. It was really a large glass structure made of little square openings. In each opening was an assortment of colorful coffee mugs, wine glasses, juice jugs and glasses. They seem to radiate a sort of playfulness to the sort of mature apartment. All the cupboards in the kitchen had glass doors so one could see inside. A counter separated the actual kitchen from the small breakfast nook where light danced around the room as if it were a solarium. There was a small country styled table with matching chairs. Against the walls were window seats with a cushion that had little coffee cups floating on clouds.

Multicolored glass walls enclosed the last corner. From the open door, it seemed to be a study. The walls were covered in mounted bookshelves, filled with hundreds of heavy bound and paperback books. There were a couple of bleak file cabinets that were decorated with colorful magnets, stickers and photos. On a large desk there was a cream-colored computer, cluttered with post-its and other papers. A fax machine was currently printing out a sheet. Other miscellaneous things synonymous with an office were in this room.

"Nice place ya' got here," he smiled finally looking back at her.

Suddenly the loud barking of a dog penetrated their world again. Tristan's eyes trailed towards the two doors on the side of the dining room and sitting room where the sound seemed to have originated.

Ignoring it, Rory walked towards the kitchen she stopped at one of the two coffee machines, "Would you like some coffee?"

"You're still a coffee-holic, huh?" he grinned following him.

"You say addiction, I say a lifesaver. Potato, patata . . ." she grinned looking up again.

"I saw you yesterday at the banquet."

"I saw you too."

"You never said hi."

"I did, I even said welcome, but you never said anything back."

"When?"

"Yesterday morning. Do you remember a jogger running into your platoon as you arrived at your hotel?"

"That was you?"

"The one and only!"

"But the Mary I knew never exercised?"

"And the Tristan I knew would have said hi, but then again you were too busy searching for your next bed bunny."

"Hey, so were you, with the cook."

"Whatever," she grinned.

Suddenly they turned at the sound of a door opening, and instantly the barking stopped. Instead a large, no, HUGE chocolate dog came bounding out of the room with a grin on his face.

"Watch out," she warned as she turned back to Tristan, "He knocks me over pretty often, and it hurts a f-in lot."

"This your dog?" he asked with a raised brow.

"Yeah, he's a Newfoundland, the second biggest dog in the world. His name is Mocha. But he also answers to Fred."

"What?"

"Long story, but let's just say that Lane liked it."

"Yeah, is she the one that you were talking to yesterday? The one who kept pointing at me?"

"Yeah, but you were staring back."

"I didn't recognize you. You look so different, more mature, more beautiful. The only thing that I recognized where your eyes."

"Then how did you find out it was me? And how did you get my address? And why are you here?"

"My advisor, Jackson informed me to who you were. You remember him, the one you slammed into. He gave me your address and I took a cab here. As for why, well I've got some time off before I take up my position, so I was thinking, can you be my tour guide?"

"I do have work, M. DuGrey."

"Take off a day or two, please?" he asked poking out his lip in a immature pout.

"Yeah, whatever. Anyway I'll just say I'm interviewing you, so I'll still get paid."

"Good lie." He smiled.

"It's not a lie. Have you ever seen your agenda? I do have an interview scheduled with you."

"That's what Jackson's for."

"Whatever. Let me go call up work and then we can catch up."

Taking it from the cradle, Rory began to dial the office.

"Good morning Jocelyn, it's Lorelei. Mr. Duval please?"

"Good morning Mr. Duval . . .yes, everything's fine . . . no, uh I called to say that I wouldn't be in today, or tomorrow . . . I'll be working, but not in the office . . . the American is here . . . yes I will, we went to high school together, we're just catching up on old times . . . yes, I'll call you tomorrow and I'll interview him, bye . . .A demain!"

"So you're out of work, huh?"

"Yes, and you seem to have a reputation," she grinned turning back to him.

"Why?"

"He told me to watch out for you. That's sad, my own boss is warning me against you. I guess you haven't changed all that much from high school."

"Hey, I've changed lots, I just haven't changed my lady loving routine."

"You're an idiot!" she laughed heading towards the couch, then motioning for him to follow.

"So whose Dave?" he asked settling beside her.

"Lane's boyfriend. He's moving in this summer, or she's moving out. I'm not sure, they haven't decided yet."

"If she moves, will you?"

"No way, I love this apartment, I'd never leave," she smiled as Mocha jumped on the couch in the space between him and rested his head on her lap.

"So ya' still with Bagboy?"

"Who's- oh, Dean! No way! We broke up senior year."

"Oh, what happened?"

"Jess happened," Lane announced as she exited her bedroom.

"Who's Jess?"

"Her step-cousin."

"Lane!"

"Mary!" they yelled simultaneously.

Turning back to Tristan she tried to redeem herself, "He wasn't my cousin then."

"What was he, your brother?"

"No," she sighed exasperated, "He was Luke's nephew and the supplier of my coffee."

"How's he your step-cousin then?"

"Mom and Luke got married after we broke up."

"Why'd you break up?"

"We were too familiar with each other; it was like dating my brother or something. We were better friends than lovers."

"Do you ever have a bad break-up?"

"Her break-up with Dean was pretty horrible," Lane added.

"What happened?"

"He broke up with her in the middle of a dance contest with the whole town staring."

"Why?"

"Because the whole night I was ogling at Jess, and when we weren't staring, we were arguing over his choice of girlfriend, and the tension from what happened before Sookie's wedding."

"What happened at Sookie's wedding?" he asked, not even sure who Sookie was.

"She kissed him, while still with Dean."

"Man, you sure kiss a lot of other people," he grinned referring back to their kiss at Madeline's party.

"I thought we were never going to talk about that again?"

"Whatever."

She rolled her eyes and scratched Mocha behind the ears. Looking down at him she puckered her lips and placed a kiss on his nose. "Hey baby."

"So what Chilton gossip have you heard?"

"Uh, remember, I wasn't in the loop with the Chilton kids? I guess there are a couple things I know. Uh, Louise is on marriage number two, and Madeline is still happily married to the guy that knocked her up in college. They are as happy as one could be in a marriage without love. Uh, Lane, what was up with Henry again?" she asked turning to her best friend.

"Uh, Henry got married at eighteen to a beautiful Korean girl that his parents set him up with, and he's studying to be a neurologist."

"I think that's about all the stuff we've got."

"Wait, I heard something about Paris getting married?"

"Oh, I forgot!" Rory said slapping herself on the forehead.

"Can I tell him? Please can I tell him?"

"Tell me what?"

"Go ahead," Rory smiled kissing Mocha on the head.

"What?" Tristan asked looking almost painfully at Lane.

"Well ya' see, after Rory and Jess broke up, Rory felt like being Rodger Lodge on Blind Date, and decided that she'd play matchmaker. So she set up Jess and Paris, and now they're married. Now Paris is her step-cousin-in-law."

"Really?"

"Yeah, Jess even wanted her to be the best man, but she let Luke do it, and let Paris take her as maid of honor."

"Aw, Rory and Paris finally made up. Man, I couldn't believe that Paris was getting married before you."

"I could."

"Oh please, you sit in front of a guy a long as we have dressed like that, you'd be getting thirty proposals per hour."

"Ok, and that's my cue to go," she sighed untangling her legs from beneath her.

"Hey, from this view you'd be getting fifty," he called after her.

As she strode away from him, he spotted the small black character, the size of a thumbprint on her back, just underneath the strap of her tank.

"Mary, is that a tattoo I spy?"

"Yes," she sighed rubbing the little mark awkwardly.

"When did you get it?"

"Summer after I graduated from Chilton. Mom and I backpacked through Europe for three months and one night in Amsterdam we saw a tattoo parlor and decided to do it. We decided on matching ones."

"What do they mean?"

"Unbreakable," she replied before shutting the door to her bedroom.

He said nothing as he pondered her words. He understood what they meant. Their bond, the mother daughter bond was unbreakable. Their love was unbreakable. Their souls, their lives, they were inseparable; nothing could tear them apart. Nations couldn't separate them, words couldn't hurt them, they were a part of each other like yin and yang, without one another, the other would make no sense.

"Ya' still in love with her, huh?"

Swiveling his head, his eyes clashed with Lane's dark brown ones. She looked so serious as she cradled the coffee cup in her hands and studied him.

"I . . ."

"It's none of my business really, but if you hurt her so help me God, you will wish to God that you were never born. There are way too many people in this world that care about her, and if you break her heart, you will never be safe. You might think it's funny, but it's not. This is so real you really don't want to test it."

"I care about her, and I won't do anything to hurt her, I promise."

"Good, now let's talk about something else. My band has a gig at a local bar tonight . . ."

TBC . . .

A/N: hope you guys like this, R&R pweeeezzzzz!


	3. Stellar

Torn -By Yo-yo 

Disclaimer: C chappie #1, oh, and I don't own "Stellar" by Incubus (the best band ever!) o o

A/N: For those who said it was out of character for Rory to have a tattoo, I just have to ask this: It wasn't out of character for Rory to kiss Jess when she was still with Dean? It wasn't out of character for Rory to kiss Tristan out of the blue? It wasn't out of character for Rory to blow up her Dad or her grandparents? Rory does a lot of things that would be constituted as out of character, and yet no one says anything about those. I don't think it's out of character for Rory to get a tattoo with her mother b/c their relationship is so strong. Yeah, it may seem like something more to Lorelei's effect, but Rory is a lot like her, and I just think it adds to their mother- daughter bond and their tight relationship.

Torn III:

Music pounded in her ears. It's loud, erratic, beat pounding simultaneously with her heartbeat.

_Just breathe,_ she told herself as she weaved between the multitudes of people in the smoky nightclub. She was trying her damnedness not to think about the arm wrapped around her waist, clenching ever so slightly around her.

When they'd arrived in the club, she'd taken his hand to make sure he didn't get lost. She tried not to pay attention to the warmth rising from the spot where their fingers fused and rose up her arm. Leading him towards the stage, she felt herself jerk when he'd stopped. Turning to find the disturbance, she felt her spine tremble from the intense glare that he focused on the young man before him. She almost felt sorry for the guy as he cowered at the glare and shrunk back into the crowd. When he turned back to her, she tried to hide the smile from her features. Turning back to face the stage, she felt his arm wrap around her torso, and pressed her back flush against his chest.

"So I won't lose you," he murmured with his lips so close to her ear that she could feel them brush against her.

Tucking the bottom of her lip between teeth, she bit into it to fight the moan ready to escape her lips and make her slump against his hard, tight frame.

"Rory!" Lane shouted as she spotted her best friend.

All too ready to escape from his grasp, she ran to her best friend and hugged her.

"Hey Lane," and letting go she turned to Dave and repeated the gesture, "Hey Dave."

"Hey Ror, who's the guy?"

"Oh, Dave, this is Tristan, Tristan, this is Dave, Lane's boyfriend."

"Hi," Dave smiled taking Tristan's hand.

"Nice to meet you. Both the girls have been talking loads about you," Tristan smiled finally letting go.

"Rory, this guy seems familiar. Where do I know him from?"

"Chilton yearbook, and now he's the American attorney."

"You guys went to school together?"

"Yeah-"

"Guys, sorry but we can meet and greet later. We're on in ten babe," Lane interrupted turning to Dave.

"Ok Rory and Tristan, I'll see you guys after the show."

"Would you like something to drink?" She smiled turning away.

"Yeah," he answered following her as she headed for the bar.

When they'd reached the bar, they'd both ordered their drinks from a bartender who already knew Rory took a margarita with a twist.

"You come here often?"

"I stop by whenever." She answered, nonchalantly. "Lane's band is a regular around here, so whenever I can, I come and get a drink. I usually just hang around with friends."

Suddenly, as if on cue, a young man and woman simultaneously yelled, "Lorelei!"

Turning at the name, her expression lit up as she held them both in her arms.

"Wow, how have you been? I haven't seen you two in awhile," she grinned pulling away.

"Here and there," the girl smiled, eyeing Tristan slyly, "So guess what?"

"What?"

"We're opening up the Café, the grand opening is next Saturday. Can you come?" The guy asked, eyeing Tristan suspiciously.

"Oui, just ring me with the rest of the info, and I might even find a critic to accompany the grand opening."

"Bon," he grinned.

"Lorelei, who is the young man standing behind you with a confused look on his face?" The woman asked.

"Oh, sorry, how rude of me," she said before turning to introduce Tristan, "Marc and Nicole, this is Tristan. Tristan, these are a couple of friends, Marc and Nicole."

"Nice to meet you," they both said as they ceremoniously kissed his cheek. Then turning to Rory, "Ashley and Benjamin will be here in a few moments, would you like to get a table?"

"Sure," she smiled ruffling her hair back.

Heading straight for the crowds of people, they found an empty table, big enough to accommodate their party of six and sat on the tall stools.

"So Tristan, how long have you known our dear Lorelei?"

"Uh, we've known each other since sophomore year of high school. We met at a party last night and I got her to ditch a couple of days of work for me."

"What, Lorelei skipped work?"

"Whatever," she smiled.

"There's no whatever, he's corrupted you. I think we need to call America, Lorelei never misses out on work."

"I see Ashley and Ben," Marc said, waving his arm in the air, signaling their presence.

Sitting there, listening to her friends chattering away gaily, Tristan kept trying to focus on anything other than Rory.

Ever since he'd seen her walk out of her bedroom tonight, he couldn't help but stare at her, wondering if the angel beholden in his eyes were real or only a mere mirage.

God she looked so beautiful tonight. She was wearing a black, off the shoulders, peasant-styled top. Wrapped around her slim, swanlike neck was a black velvet choker with a small silver pendant attached. On her long, strong legs she wore tight, flattering navy blue jeans. On her feet she wore beaded sandals.

Her long, chocolate-kissed hair, with it's tiny, honey brown highlights hung down her back in gentle waves, curling luxuriously at the ends. Her hair wasn't fixed like yesterday, all limp and sophisticated, instead, it was free and less inhibited. It looked as if she'd just ran a bush through it, knowing it'd come out looking as beautiful as she'd hoped. It's full body, and silky length wrapped around her neck and cradled her face making her look even more cherubic, if that was possible.

Even from the night of the banquet, he still couldn't get over how beautiful she was. In high school, he'd remembered how her contemplative look had engulfed his thoughts during class, imprinting her face in his mind's eye permanently. But even now, with her 16-year-old face still as vivid in his mind as when he'd first seen it, he couldn't remember her this beautiful.

He'd seen her mother only twice, and even then they were only short glimpses where even if she stood before him he still wouldn't be sure if it was she. But if he'd placed those two Gilmore beauties beside one another, there'd be no mistaking their relation. Both their faces had those soft, graceful bone structures lying just beneath their pale skin. A light spray of freckles decorated their faces and skin, so light that they were hardly discernable. Their eyes were both the same shade of sapphire blue, with tiny flecks glinting like diamonds, radiating an incredible warmth from their mere sight. They both were tall and slim, curving simply like angels. Their hair had darkened to a now dark chocolate, and the honey brown highlights gave them a distinguished look. Their resemblances were so great, and their effect on men, just as striking.

As his eyes roamed over her new, precocious body, he didn't notice as the other couple escaped the table and retreated to the dance floor.

"I see you still have an unusual fascination with my ear?"

"What?" he asked, suddenly conscious of being spoken to.

"I remember in high school you were always caught looking at my ear."

"I wasn't-"

"Tristan DuGrey, what is your fascination with my ear? Is it one of those weird fetish things? Am I going to have to move? Are you going to stalk me or something?"

"Shut up, you're not very funny!"

"Actually, according to my Physic Friend, I am!"

"Did you get drunk?"

"Anyway, so what happened to you after the Romeo and Juliet play?"

"Wow, let's see. Uh, after my Dad yelled at me for about two hours, I boarded the plane to South Carolina where I finished my high school career a year early in Military School. After high school, I decided I couldn't go back there and bide by my parent's cockeyed views, so I went to Oxford. One day my friends and I took the ferry up here, and ever since I decided I was destined to live here. After I graduated from Oxford I went to Harvard to get my law degree. And now I am doing a law partnership here. So that's how I got here, what about you? What's your story?"

"Um, well after I graduated from Hell, I did something very unexpected . . . I went to Harvard," she joked. "Summer after freshman year in Harvard, I got an internship at the New York Times. They told me if I ever needed a job, they'd be happy to oblige me. So that opened up a lot of doors. Uh, I got a job there doing freelance in the summer of sophomore year. Then, junior year, I studied abroad in Nice for a semester. When I got back that summer, I was offered another internship and I took them up on their offer.

"Then senior year, after many long discussions with my mom, I decided I'd like to study here for a couple of years. I got in touch with the New York Times, and they set me up with an internship here with their Paris department. I mean, I'm basically working as a general dog's body to this total idiot, but I'm on my way to being a foreign correspondent. Plus, every once in awhile, they throw me a bone- like your interview."

"Wow, they must pay you well in order to get that apartment?"

"They pay me well enough, but the apartment I pay for with my inheritance."

"You're inheritance?"

"Yes, the Gilmore's provided a trust-fund for me, so I've been living off that. But I'm doing great, I love this city."

"Do you ever think you'll go back?"

"Most definitely. If I get married, I'm probably going to move back. It's already hell trying to pay for my long-distance phone calls. I mean my mom and I talk so much, if I don't move back to America, I'm going to go bankrupt!"

"That was me during college."

"Who were you calling so profusely? Your girlfriend?"

"My grandfather. He was living in the states and he was the only family contact I had all through college. He paid for my education because at that point my family had disowned me."

"What?"

"Yeah, but since they've taken me back. My grandfather left everything to me, and they decided that they couldn't let all that money go without a fight."

"Did he pass away?" she asked, her eyes wide with worry and concern.

"No, actually he's living here for awhile. He's staying in the hotel. I'll be living with him until I find my own place."

"Hmm, so how was Military School?"

"Uh, liberating," he breathed running his fingers through his hair with a nervous laugh.

"Why?"

"I was nobody. I didn't have to worry about saying the wrong thing to the wrong family about the gossip that was going around the grapevine. I didn't have to constantly put on a façade when I was around people. It was so hard to play a part of a boy that you despise-"

"You despised yourself?"

"Yes, I despised the 'King of Chilton.' I despised everything that he stood for. I hated having a flavor of the week. I hated being a stone cold bastard who couldn't stand up for himself. I hated pretending that my parent's affairs didn't hurt and that I didn't care when my mother left for a month in Marseille. I hated having to be this selfish asshole who couldn't even look himself in the mirror without begging to spit on that guy staring back at him and wishing him to hell. I hated hating myself and not knowing what to do about that."

"I didn't know that it was so hard for you. I thought you actually liked it."

"In the beginning I thought so too . . .and then you came," he whispered.

"What?"

"Yeah, when you came, you ruined everything. Nothing mattered to you, except the person within. And for me, I didn't know who in the hell that person was. I wanted to be civil to you. I wanted to get to know you. I wanted to be your friend . . .but I didn't know how. I didn't know how to act around you. You were like a breath of fresh air, and I'd been so used to breathing through my mouth and never really smelling it's sweetness that I needed to learn how to breathe through my nose again.

"And then I went to Military School, and everything was like a breath of fresh air. I made great friends that understood where I was coming from and were searching for the same thing. They needed to find themselves, I needed to find myself, and in the peacefulness that wasn't Hartford Society, I found Tristan DuGrey."

"And when you finally found him, what was he like?"

"He was a cool guy," Tristan grinned.

She didn't say anything for a few long moments, digesting the information. Finally,

"Why didn't you come back?" she breathed.

"I was afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Afraid that my parents would try to shove me into the world I'd tried so desperately to escape. Afraid that when people saw the real Tristan DuGrey, they wouldn't be as accepting as my friends at Military School. Afraid that everything that I'd worked on would vanish as soon as Hartford Society got their claws into me again. Afraid of everything that I used to hate."

"I missed you," she said, her eyes turned towards the dance floor.

He didn't say anything as he studied the silhouette of her profile in the dark room.

A few unspoken moments passed in which both parties were totally immersed in their own thoughts. With her face turned away from his, she tried to discern the feelings whizzing around her head like dodge balls. And with his eyes resting on the gentle curve of her ear, he wondered what was it about her that made these feelings arise and made him feel so good.

"Tristan," she whispered, her eyes directed towards the dance floor, "Would you like to dance?"

"Yeah," he murmured lifting himself from the stool.

When they reached the dance floor, she turned to him, her eyes avoiding his face as she placed her arms around his neck and moved closer to him. He didn't say anything as he wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned a little closer, letting his face rest in the curve of her neck.

In a matter of moments, the loud, erratic beats of drums mellowed, and the simple, beautiful voice of Lane lifted like air around them, gently encircling them. The soft strumming of the guitar, beating of the drums, and keyboard gave the illusion of a far-off world where only they existed, and the rise and fall of her voice.

"Meet me in outer space. / We could spend the night; / watch the earth come up. / I've grown tired of that place; / won't you come with me? / We could start again..."

She ducked her head slightly, the spicy, yet subtle scent of his cologne making her drunk with want; the feel of his hot breath dancing across her scorching skin was sending little tremors down her spine; and the feel of him, pressed against her was making it increasingly hard to think rationally.

"How do you do it? / Make me feel like I do? / How do you do it? / It's better than I ever knew . . ."

He didn't know how such a simple song could capture his emotions so fully, but he thanked God in heaven that it was written. For the first time in his life, it wasn't about hurrying her up so she could get in his bed faster . . . for the first time it was wishing that this moment never stopped. For the first time in his life, he wanted to stay in this perfect piece of heaven- holding the one person he'd ever really cared about- never wanting anything more than to stay in her arms, swaying with the voices of the angels.

"Meet me in outer space. / I will hold you close, / if you're afraid of heights. / I need you to see this place, / it might be the only way that I can show you / how if feels to be inside you . . ."

Her eyes fluttered close and his scent intoxicated her senses. She felt herself retreating to a place she only knew as a child- a place where nothing mattered except this moment; a place where everything was safe, and worrying was overrated. She hadn't felt so comfortable with another person since she'd last kissed her mother's forehead and told her that she'd call when she got to the loft.

Letting her body relax to his, she rested her head on his shoulder while her hand crawled up his neck to the nape, gently playing with the hair there. Exhaling slowly, she could feel his hands inch up her back until it rested between her shoulder blades, and his fingers made little swirls on her skin.

"How do you do it? / Make me feel like I do? / How do you do it? / It's better than I ever knew . . ."

His fingers sank into the gentle waves of her hair, getting lost in their luxurious depths. Tenderly messaging her scalp, a sudden burst of perfume escaped the silky folds, causing him to involuntarily nuzzle closer to the enticing scent and breathe in the scent of her.

And then her breath swept past him and he felt the light brush of her lips across his skin. Unconsciously, his mouth lowered to her ear where his lips gently brushed against its small curve.

"You are stellar . . ."

After many long moments, she lifted her face, her eyes gazing into his, the tiniest of twinkles shining in them.

He immediately read the look of hesitance, and prayed that what he was doing would be all right.

Slowly his lips made their way to hers and he could hear the soft sound of her exhaling in anticipation. His lips dipped meditatively, their lips so close that they softly brushed against one another as they parted, and before he could press his lips to hers-

Nicole's voice penetrated their world.

"What?" Rory asked, her eyes still on his, except this time, the dazed look was gone, being replaced with one of concern.

"I said, Ashley, Ben, Marc and I were heading out and going someplace more quiet, would you two like to come?"

Turning to stare at her friend, reality slammed back into her like a freight train at full speed. It took a few moments for Nicole's words to register before Rory shook her head.

"Sorry Nicole, but we promised Lane and Dave we'd stay and then hang with them. I'll see you later?"

"Yeah, sure," Nicole smiled, although obviously perturbed that she hadn't decided to join them.

When Nicole turned away, she looked back at Tristan, "Would you like something to drink? Suddenly I'm feeling very thirsty."

"Yeah, water."

"Ok, I'll be back, I'll meet you at the table."

Tristan watched as Rory ambled towards the bar and ordered two drinks. Her body language was so tense and uncertain that he could detect it from twenty feet away. He wondered where would that little moment put them . . . would they try to work past it, or would she end up running away like she did in high school?

TBC . . .

A/N: hoped you like this one, it was kind of fun to write. R&R pweez.

W/ luv,

Yo-yo


	4. No Innuendos

Torn -By Yo-yo 

A/N: translations (b/c some of its in French)

P. A/N: Sorry babes this took so long, but I've been writing a research paper that dictates if I pass Jr. year or not, and me being an Honor's student and all, I've pretty much been obsessing over it and getting no sleep. It took me two months to write, and I still don't know what in the hell I was talking about. So if anyone can send me a cute boy, or even Brandon Boyd, my spirits will raise and I could write more and post them sooner. ULTIMATE ROWING!!!!!!!!!!!!! JESS IS HOT (AND SO IS TRISTAN, OW!)!!!!!!!!!!!

Torn IV:

"Maria, Maria, Mari-ah!" a voice bellowed, splitting the languid stillness of the large loft.

Two heads sprang apart, facing the sound.

Standing at the open, large metal door was a young man waving a large spoon and singing at the top of his lungs.

From his current position on the couch, he was aware that this young man looked completely at home. It was almost mundane how he entered the apartment and began his solo.

Suddenly, the young man whirled around and saw him on the couch. His hazel eyes grew wide in surprise, and his lips parted in shock.

"Je suis désole," he began, still staring, "I didn't know you had a guy here."

Looking down at each other, they blushed bright red. They were laying so close to each other, with limbs tangled together and hands laid reverently against one another. If she hadn't been so sure about their relationship, she would have thought they'd slept together.

"Sorry," she whispered, her eyes penetrating his blue orbs.

"It was nothing," he replied as he felt her body retreat from his.

Going towards the young man still staring at Tristan, she smiled,

"Hey, he's a friend. So what's up?"

"Désole," he repeated looking back at her, "I just haven't seen you asleep with a man before."

"Well, seeing as my job generally runs out of my bedroom, it was bound to happen," she grinned, gently punching him in the arm. "Adrien, I want you to meet Tristan. Tristan, this is Adrien; he lives in the loft next to ours, and he supplies it with mammoth amounts of food."

"She's not lying about that," Adrien smiled good naturedly.

"So what brings you to this humble abode at," she looked at her watch on her wrist, "eight in the morning?"

"Goûte ça." He grinned, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

He dug into the tiny bowl in his hand with the spoon, and offered her a taste of the steaming concoction.

Leaning forward and catching the spoon in her lips, she drew back and contemplated its taste. In a moment she had sank back onto the arm of one of the strategically placed couches, with her eyes glazed over.

"Damn, that was amazing!" she gasped, still dazed. "I actually got weak in the knees! It's like . . . your first love . . . your first kiss . . . it's orgasmic!"

"Vraiment?"

"Tristan, c'meer, goûte ça!" she begged.

Standing from his lying position, Tristan sauntered over to where they both stood and tasted.

In a matter of seconds, he found himself stumbling for a place to sit.

"I can't even find words sufficient enough to describe that!" he admitted sinking down into the couch.

"Marry me!" she said suddenly, her eyes opened expectantly towards Adrien.

"What?"

"Marry me! That was so good that I've decided you will marry me. My mom will be thrilled, and Luke will be happy that he doesn't have to cook for you, and-"

"What will Sophia think?"

"Who cares, just marry me!" she pleading standing up again.

"What's with the Gilmore girls and food providers? If I had known about this in high school I would have made you lunch." Tristan scoffed.

"Would you have?" she grinned facing him.

"Whatever," he said waving off the statement nonchalantly and heading towards her room for the bathroom.

When he left, Adrien turned towards her, "Alors, who was that?"

"A guy I knew in high school. You remember him, the American?"

"The American?! And you let me come in here looking like this?"

"He's nobody special." She smiled realizing he was wearing a "Goonies" tee and a pair of holey jeans.

* * *

Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he recalled the sense of peace he felt upon waking up that morning. He'd waken a couple of hours earlier, with a strange feeling of completeness. It was as if something had filled the hallow cavern of his heart, giving him a sort of fulfillment he'd never felt before.

When his eyes finally began to discern his surroundings, he confirmed the reason to his elation was Rory Gilmore asleep in his arms with her head buried in his chest. Her body was so warm and soft next to his. For the first time in his life he wasn't lying in a bed he was restless to escape. Granted the couch was uncomfortable, he still couldn't imagine leaving her side for even a moment.

He gazed down at her sleeping figure and reveled in the feel of her against him with an arm wrapped around him tightly, possessively. Somehow, during the course of the night, her hand had found his, and now their fingers were intertwined with one another's. His other hand was slowly rubbing her from hip to thigh and her body tremored slightly. Her warm breath cradled him and he could swear he felt her lips place a soft kiss against his heart.

It felt so good to wake up next to someone that he had not slept with (well sexually anyway). It felt so good to be in the arms of the one girl that he'd wanted to touch since the first day he'd met her.

Pushing back his unruly blonde mane, he splashed cold water on his face and thought back to the cause of their earlier position.

After they'd left the club, Rory and Tristan had taken a stroll to his hotel to gather his clothes for the next day. Rory stayed outside with Jackson while he informed his grandfather of his plans. When he returned with a night bag, he found Rory and Jackson having a heated argument. He didn't understand in how in the course of ten minutes they'd began bickering while glaring daggers at one another.

When he'd finally dragged her away from the feverish fight, they made their way back to her apartment where Lane and Dave had begun setting up for a "Movie Night." After they changed, they all sat down on the couch and consumed illegal amounts of junk food before Lane and Dave decided to crash.

They decided to stay up longer and chat. Finally, in the middle of their animated conversation, their eyes began to droop, and they both fell asleep in each other's arms.

After he'd washed his face and brushed his teeth, he heard the distinct sound of scratching on the wooden door. When he opened it, he wasn't surprised to find an awake Mocha with a large grin on his face.

Gently scratching the overzealous dog behind his ears, he opened her bedroom door and entered the dining room where he could already smell the percolating coffee.

"You guys are already awake?" Lane asked entering the kitchen at the same time as Tristan.

"Yeah," Rory smiled before taking a long sip of coffee.

"Hey Adrien," Lane yawned wiping the sleep from her eyes and pressed the button to another coffee maker.

"You guys have two coffee makers?" Tristan asked noticing for the first time.

"Yeah," Lane said pulling on the large dress shirt she wore that fell to her thigh. "I can't take my coffee as strong as hers. I have a shift this morning at ten and might accidentally kill someone from my trembling hands."

Filling his cup with Rory's remarkably strong coffee, Adrien pressed a kiss to her cheek and said, "I should be getting back, I've got to get to work in a half an hour."

"Make something good," she called after him, "we're coming over for lunch."

"Magnific!" he grinned before shutting the door.

"He was the cook at the banquet!" Tristan stated, his brain finally recognizing him.

"Yeah," she said pushing a wisp of hair behind her ear.

He didn't know what to think. The way that he kissed her cheek gingerly, and they touched when they were together and interacted, they looked like a couple very much in love.

"Tristan," Rory asked, "are you ok?"

"Yeah," he said shaking his head of his thoughts, "Uh Mare, do you have any towels for the lavatory?"

"Yeah, in the cabinet between the bath and the shower."

"Duh!" he said smacking his forehead.

"And close the door, Mocha likes to jump into the bath, and won't leave until you do. It's disconcerting."

"With you in the shower, I can't imagine why." He quipped heading towards her room again.

"Hey, no innuendos in the loft!" she called.

"I haven't even begun to make innuendos," he smirked with an eye cocked.

Taking a reverent sip of her coffee, she looked at him beneath her eyelashes with her sapphire eyes glistening in amusement.

"So, what's up with you two?" Lane asked after Rory's door closed.

"Nothing," she said turning to look at her best friend.

"Well, the way you two were cozying up last night, you could fool a lot of people."

"We weren't 'cozying up'."

"Well when Dave walked into the living room, he hurried back because he was afraid he was interrupting you two."

"We fell asleep, nothing more! It wasn't as if we were making out or anything."

"Whatever, but it did look a little dubious."

"You and Dave should look after yourselves instead of everyone else." She sighed, her irritation evident in her voice.

"So anyways, what happens if he does want to make out with you?"

"What?"

"What if he actually likes you, would you go out with him?"

"I don't know," she sighed pensively, "probably not."

"Why not? He's hot and successful."

"In high school he was the ultimate player. And I know I shouldn't dwell on the past. I know that he's changed and that he's not the same guy, but I still have to be cautious. Plus, he's still a player. Yesterday when I called the office to tell them I wouldn't be in, Duval warned me about him. And even if I got him, how would I ever be able to trust him?"

"Well I don't know about that, but you two were staring awfully hard at each other last night. And after you two almost kissed, I could cut the sexual tension with a knife!"

"You saw that?!"

"The entire band had a discussion about it after the session-"

"That's what took you guys so long?"

"-And we all agree, Nicole should be shot!" she continued, her voice animated with passion.

* * *

"So, ya' ready?" he asked through the door.

"Yeah, just a sec," she called through the closed door, "lemme grab my bag."

Leaning against the doorjamb, he waited patiently for her to emerge. In a few moments, she swung open the door with a leash in hand.

Watching her as she sauntered out, he felt breathless. She looked stunning dressed in the simple attire. She was clad in a cute little tank top and a pair of khaki chino floods with a small ribbon of tan skin peaking through, revealing her belly button. On her feet was a pair of khaki, platform wedges. On her wrist was a cute wooden bracelet and there were a pair of sunglasses hung on the front of her top. Her hair was pulled into a modest ponytail and she wore no make-up. Slung over her arm was a large khaki bag.

He watched as she leaned over and attached the leash to Mocha's collar.

"Hey, what do you want to do today?"

"What?" he asked finally realizing that she said something.

"What would you like to do today?" she repeated straightening herself.

"I don't know, what do you advise?"

"Well I was thinking we do the touristy things. Like we could visit le tour Eiffel and le Moulin Rouge and I don't know . . . stuff."

"Mare, you forget that I've been here before. I want to do something else. Maybe visit a park, go see a movie . . . hang, ya' know. Maybe we can even visit a small coffee shop."

"I'm rubbing off on you!" she grinned. "Ok, well we'll have lunch at Adrien's, but for now we'll just go where the wind takes us."

"Ok," he grinned holding out his hand.

"So how's life living with your grandfather?"

"My grandfather is cool. He's a little upset that he's cooped up in the hotel-"

"We could have invited him along-"

"Doctor's orders, he has to stay. When things start to look up, I'll move out, but for now I'm still here. He says he's thinking of staying for a few more months, and will probably leave before Christmas. He says winter in Connecticut is something he would never miss."

"He sounds like my mom," she said wistfully.

"So, are you going back anytime soon?"

"Next month Lane, Dave and I will be heading back for two weeks," she grinned, her eyes twinkling in amusement.

"You're ready aren't you?"

"Yeah. My mom just had a baby; she's so beautiful. Her name is Lily."

"How old is she?"

"She's about two months old. I've also got two brothers, Seth and Owen. They're so cute. Owen's four and Seth's three. They remind me so much of Luke, it's uncanny, their resemblance."

"Luke's your Step-dad, right?"

"Yeah."

"How did you feel when they got married?"

"Happier than if my mom had married my dad. He's the sweetest guy ever. And Luke is so in love with Lily. After she was born, and my mom went to sleep, he held her in his arms for hours. When I walked in on him, he was crying, and telling her how much he loved my mom, and the rest of the family. Even my grandparents couldn't be happier with Luke.

"God I miss Luke and everyone! He sends me coffee every week. And we're always on the phone together, and he wishes the best for me. I love him. He was my dad when I didn't have one. He fed me and my mom when we didn't have any money; he even did it when we did. He's loved my mom since the day they first met, and he would run through hell and high water just for her. He's the greatest man I've ever known, and I was so happy when my mom told me that he'd proposed. Ya' know they didn't even date before he asked her to marry him. It was so cute."

"How did he ask her to marry him?" he asked wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"It was the night that my mom and I had gotten back from our Europe trip, which was about a week before I started Harvard. As soon as the plane touched the ground, we grabbed our luggage and made our way to Luke's Diner. When we got there, he already had a dinner set up for the four of us: Luke, Mom, Jess and I.

"He'd cleared out the entire diner, just for dinner with us. It was really sweet and romantic, which of course my Mom was oblivious to, so she cracked jokes and made impressions all night. So it got time to dessert, and Luke asked me to help him in the kitchen. So I went back there with him, where Mom couldn't hear, and he showed me the ring. He told me of his intension, and then he said: 'Are you okay with this?' and I remember that at that time I realized that he was perfect for her, and me. He may have not been my biological father, but he was definitely the father I had been looking for since I could talk.

"So anyway, we entered the diner with the deserts, and sat down. Then, just as my mom was about to stab into the generous slab of pie, he asked. She whispered yes and Jess spit out the piece of pie he'd been eating. A week later they got married and I left for Harvard. It was a beautiful wedding even though it was created in so short a time period. Even my grandparents were happy."

"You envy them don't you?"

"Yeah. Someday, I wish I could find just the tiniest fraction of their happiness with someone."

"You sound so old, as if you'd never get married." He smiled pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Well, sometimes I feel that way. I mean, it's not like I'm pining to get married, but it's hard. All of my friends are either married, getting married, or on the verge of getting engaged. And I don't have the greatest track record with guys, so it's totally annoying when someone announces to me that they've found the love of their life."

"Mare, don't worry. I'm in the same boat. We can be bitter friends toget-"

"Is that what we are?"

"What?" he asked looking down into her vast blue eyes.

"Are we friends?"

"Uh . . . I don't know . . . Is that what you want?"

As she gazed back into his, her lips twisted up into a breathtaking smile that rose from her lips, through her face and settled in her eyes like it always did.

"Yeah," she grinned, standing up on her tiptoes and placing a soft kiss to his sunken cheek.

TBC . . .


	5. Life isn't Sugarcoated

Torn -By Yo-yo 

Disclaimer: C chappie #1

A/N: If you guys haven't read the revised versions of chapters 1-4, you might just get lost. So I advise you read those before you start this one.

Torn V:

"You didn't!" she laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and wiping a tear of mirth from her eyes.

"Yeah, and it wasn't the cheap wash-out stuff; his hair stayed bubble gum pink for a whole month! I got so many detentions that month that I actually became known as 'The Walking Detention.' Very lame, I know, but in that time it was very prestigious. I was popular for a whole month!"

Whistling softly, Mocha halted his pursuit of the anxious feline and stood still.

Tristan let go of her as she leaned forward and began to wind the leash around a small tree, just as the beautiful, golden retriever sitting beside him. Once she'd gotten him securely tied, she placed a kiss on his forehead, which he happily received, and she informed Tristan of their destination.

"This is Adrien's restaurant, 'Le Dernier Jour.' It's very good, he's a terrific cook!" she gushed, her eyes twinkling at the mere thought of him.

"So, how long have you known him?" Tristan asked as they entered the airy space deemed the dining area.

He had to admit, whoever came up with this motif was very creative. The walls were done in a pure red, no hint of underlying color anywhere. The floors contrasted the walls with warm, beautiful hardwood floors. The décor was the perfect mix of vintage and neoclassical. From square tables to round tables, from straight backed chairs to lazy cushioned ones, from large impressive paintings to modern art, the place was the perfect balance of fung shui. There were small, wooden bookcases along the walls that held anything from sappy magazines to heavy-bound classics that accentuated the laid back atmosphere of the quaint place. Even the bamboo plants and the tiny bonsai trees provided a sense of comfort unparallel to anyplace he'd ever been.

Looking to the back corner, Adrien stood in front of another cook, his cordon bleu chef attire, stark white as he argued with the obvious rookie. He looked perfectly at home in this place. And suddenly, he understood the place's name. If it were his last day, he too would want to spend it in this place, even if the food was horrible.

As he looked at Adrien, he sighed. He could tell what Rory saw in him. He was accomplished, smart and beautiful. Even a manly guy like him could see Adrien's model-like physique. He was tall and lanky, one of those hamlet types, with a self assured air surrounding him. His eyes were the color of a sour apple glistening in the morning sun and his hair was as dark as the moonless sky. The way that he carried himself suggested there was more to him than what could be seen through the naked eye. And Tristan had seen that this morning. Adrien wasn't this lanky, nerdy guy. Tristan saw the way his muscles rippled underneath the thin layer of skin on his upper arms, and he saw the way Rory looked at him when she asked him to marry her.

He knew that Adrien was the type of guy he longed to be but could never become. He was the type of guy who could become friends first. He was the type of guy who could sit up talking hours with a woman and not need to jump her. He was the type that women wanted to spend their lives with, not the night. He was the type that women wanted to make love to, not have sex. He was the type that women could trust . . . the total opposite of Tristan.

"Are you sitting down?" she asked, concern filling her voice as she noticed his jaws flex in anger.

"Yeah," he sighed letting go of the anger when their eyes met.

"So what was that?"

"What?"

"That moment of anger, do you know someone here you'd rather not? We could leave if you want?"

"No," he smiled discarding her suggestion with a wave, "So you never answered my question, how long have you known Adrien?"

"Uh-" she began but was interrupted by the waitress.

"Lorelei, bonjour. I've missed you. You haven't been by in awhile."

"I've been busy with work, but Adrien has been feeding me good." Rory smiled to the young woman.

"What would you like?" she smiled.

"Belle, could you bring us the menus and get me a bowl of water and Alpo for Mocha outside?"

"Oui, but would you mind giving a bowl to Missy too, Eric's engrossed in a book."

"Sure," she smiled.

"You know the waitress on a first name basis. That's weird, no one should know that. I bet you even know her boyfriend?"

"So, there's nothing wrong with that."

"You being a Gilmore, that would be true. But if you were anyone else, there would definitely be calls to the psych ward."

"Are you suggesting that I'm crazy?"

"No, of course not," Tristan waved, "I am informing you."

"Die!" she grinned, narrowing her eyes in her patented withering stare.

"So, how long have you known him?"

"Adrien?" she asked, already forgetting his previous question.

"Yeah."

"Uh, we met when Lane and I were looking for an apartment. I was trying to get us out of the temporary home that the New York Times had set us up in. It was this horrible place with boring people next door, and I was ready to kill myself. So one day Lane and I come in here for a cup of coffee and some lunch, and he overhears us talking about an apartment, and he tells us about the vacancy next door to him. So we moved in, and he instantly became our food guy. He's really great."

"You guys seem really close."

"He's the first real friend that we made in Paris. He's been really great about it, I really liked him."

"So . . . how long have you two been dating?"

"What?" she gasped, spitting out the coffee she'd just ingested.

"You guys nev-?"

"Me and Adrien?" she laughed, suddenly, "We never went out! He and I are just friends . . . Only Friends!"

"I'm sor-"

"He's got a girlfriend- a very beautiful girlfriend- she's a model!"

"I'm Sorry I shouldn't have . . ." he began, the wild expression still marring her features.

"Where in the hell did that come from?"

"Nowhere, I just . . . Man, did you see the Promos for that new Peter Pan movie? I don't remember Never-Never Land being that scary!" he said looking everywhere, except at her.

After a moment of contemplation, Rory stared at the table, wondering what the hell just happened. She was used to people thinking that she and Adrien were an item; they did act really affectionate near one another. Hell, when he began dating Sophie, she had to convince Sophie herself, to believe Adrien when he told her they weren't dating. So why when Tristan ask did she feel so confrontational?

". . . Tristan . . ." she whispered not looking at him, "I'm sorry for yelling at you! I shouldn't have. I mean . . ." she closed her eyes, trying to find the words to convey what she was feeling. She could see them, but she couldn't grab on to them. Without them in her grasp, she couldn't speak.

"Mare, you don't have to explain. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that," he explained, leaning over the small table. Gently placing a finger on her chin, he guided her face up to meet his eyes.

"No . . ." she groaned shaking her head, "I don't do that. I don't . . . I don't just blow up at people, especially over something as trivial as my relationship with Adrien. God-"

"Hey, I don't do that either, I'm sorry," he whispered, gazing deeply into those huge pools of sapphire.

Suddenly,

"Lorelei, here are your menus, and can you take this outside?"

"Sure," Rory smiled to the waitress, then she turned to Tristan. "Uh, just order, I already know what I want, I'll be back."

"Yeah," he answered before opening the menu.

Slipping out of the front doors, she carried two bowls of dog food out to the two animals basking in the sun. When Mocha's eyes rested on her approaching figure, he jumped up, seeing the bowls in her hands. Missy did the exact same thing, with little barks escaping her muzzle.

When she returned to the room, instead of heading straight towards her table, she made a beeline towards an occupied table. Sitting there was a man in his mid forties with a heavy bound book to his nose. He looked rumpled, yet tidy. His hair was slicked away from his face and covered with a baseball cap, but there was a five o'clock shadow on his face. He was wearing an expensive suit with a white, button up shirt, but there was no tie and it was unbuttoned at the neck. He was wearing a Rolex watch and scuffed Chuck Taylor's (high-tops) on his feet.

"Eric," she whispered in his ear, peering over his shoulder at the book.

"Hey!" he grinned as she pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I missed you, you didn't come in yesterday."

"Yeah, well, I met up with someone. Would you like to meet him?"

"You mean he isn't invisible?" he grinned, little crinkles forming on the sides of his bright brown eyes.

"Ya' know I could just go and take back the food I gave to Missy, seeing as you've neglected her," she said standing up straight and leaving.

"Ok, who is he?"

Taking his hand in hers, she pulled him to a standing position and led him to Tristan.

"Tristan?" she asked softly.

"Hmm," he replied looking up from the magazine in his hands.

"I'd like you to meet Eric Benoire-"

"He's the American!" Eric exclaimed, looking back at Rory.

"Yeah, just so you know, he's really interested in the American legal system. He teaches it at the local University."

Standing up, Tristan leaned forward to shake his hand. Before Tristan could grasp Eric's hand, Eric grabbed Tristan by his shoulders and embraced him, kissing both his cheeks.

* * *

"That was . . . uh," Tristan tried, scrubbing the back of his neck with the base of his palm.

"Yeah, Eric can be a little intense," she agreed throwing a ball to Mocha and watching him dash away to retrieve the now wet sphere of rubber.

"He was ok though. I liked talking to him, he had good ideas," Tristan smiled, thinking of the heated discussion they'd plunged into just as they were being served their salad The end result: Tristan accidentally knocked the platter out of Belle's hand.

"I agree, when I first met him, he and I would get so loud that Adrien would kick me out. In fact, just last week he kicked me out; he says I disturb the peace. Liar!"

"Mary," he sighed, lying down on the plush grass, "You DO disturb the peace. You practically ripped his head off for saying that American's were greedy bastards who only care about themselves! I've never heard so many four-lettered words stream out of lips before. It was like watching 'South Park' or 'Jerry Springer'!"

"Well, that was a baseless stereotype-"

"And you rebutted by saying that the French were dick-less assholes who ran with their tails between their legs at the first sign of trouble. Do you see any stereotyping in that?"

"I- yeah, ok, that was bad. Sometimes, it's like he forgets what I am and just tries to piss me off! I love that guy with all my heart, but sometimes I wish he'd just sugar-coat his opinions."

"Life isn't sugar-coated-"

"Yeah it is! That's why Mikey liked it!"

A deep chuckle resonated throughout his frame as he tucked his arms beneath his head and lay out in the sun.

"You're mental."

"Get in line, it isn't like the thirty-millionth time I heard that." she smiled rolling her eyes and lying beside him.

Mocha returned, and seeing them reclined before him, he too laid himself down at their feet, waiting for them to get up and resume the animated game of fetch.

After a few moments silence, Rory turned her face to his, surprised to find his eyes on her.

"Uh, Tristan, can I start this interview? I need to have it done by tomorrow."

"Sure, go ahead," he smirked, turning on his side and propping his head up on his right arm.

"Is it ok if I record this?" she asked pulling a tape-recorder from her bag.

"Just as long as it doesn't incriminate me."

"That's your problem, not mine."

"Anyways, so begin."

"For the record, state your name."

"Tristan J. DuGrey."

"What does the J. stand for? Is it like the enigmatic J. in Homer J. Simpson that really stands for what it is, Jay, or is there a real name attached?"

"There's a real name attached. It stands for Janlen, my grandfather's name."

"The one you're staying with?"

"Yeah, he's my mom's dad."

"You guys are really close?"

"Yeah, in some ways, he's my best friend. I've never been able to talk to anyone, the way that we talk. Even though he's my elder and all, we can talk about anything from politics, money and beliefs," at this moment, one of his brows arched perfectly, "to love, sex and betrayal. He's a special guy that sometimes I wish I'd gotten to know better when I could've."

"What do you mean?" she asked, her sapphire eyes gazing into his, genuinely concerned, unlike most journalists. But maybe that was just their intimate (not sexual) relations to one another.

"He was always there when I was little, always there to help me out. But it took me until I was seventeen to realize what he was. My parents where the typical Hartford Socialites, and had hardly any time for one another, much less me. And I was alone a lot, learning to be a total punk, rather than someone that I could tolerate. And he helped to open my eyes. He's the one that encouraged me to go to Oxford, he encouraged me to be what I wanted. He taught me that life was too short to agonize over the fact that you've disappointed your parents and are going to be cut off financially. He opened my eyes to the world."

For many long moments, the only thing that could be heard was the reeling of the tape recorder, then suddenly, as if finding her voice, she asked,

"Off the record, Tristan, how did you get this job?"

"My grandfather has connections," he replied, seemingly unfazed by her involuntarily, stinging comment.

"Back on record, what do you suppose you bring to this country that no other attorney has before you?" she resumed.

"Well, besides my handsome physique, my killer good looks and my irresistible charm," he answered, a smirk on his face. "But seriously, the rights of Americans in other countries . . ."

TBC . . .

P. A/N: Sorry this took so long to update, but Summer sux and I have been trying to catch up on old things while trying to start new projects. And in the end I realized, Summer sux, I'm broke, and I have no good ideas as of lately. So bonne nuit ou bonjour. R&R pweeZZZZZ!


	6. Those DuGrey Eyes

Torn -By Yo-yo 

Disclaimer: C chappie #1.

Torn VI:

"Lorelei, Duval wants to speak with you." Yolande said, poking her head inside the cubical.

"Damnit," Rory groaned looking up from the article she was just proofreading. She prayed he wasn't sending her out to do another story. If he'd only peeked inside her cubicle, he'd realize that she was up to her nose on another story, and could barely find her shoe, much less a black pen to write the damn thing.

Rising from her seat, she groaned again as she threw her other shoe under her desk, resolving to find it at the end of the day. Working at a newspaper made things pretty informal. Plus, Duval wouldn't be looking at her feet anyway; he was a breast man!

Weaving through the tens of cubicles, she finally reached his corner office overlooking the Seine on two sides.

"Bonjour M. Duval," she greeted as she entered his office, "I was told that you needed to speak to me?"

"Oui," he waved her in, although not looking up from the documents splayed before him.

M. Duval was an old man who worked hard for his position in society, and made sure that everyone knew it. He'd aged gracefully in his sixty years, with his hair only now starting to be peppered with grey. He was strong when he wanted to be, but mostly feeble. When she'd first met him she almost laughed at his unusual likeness to Dickens's character, Mr. Bounderby.

When he'd finished perusing whatever he was perusing, he looked up at her as if first acknowledging her existence.

"Oh, Mme. Gilmore, I wanted to congratulate you on a job well done with M. DuGrey's interview. I loved the perfect way you balanced his job with his personal life. You left the reader with just enough to be informed, but curious to know more. It was a remarkable piece of work."

"Merci," she smiled, rather relieved that he wasn't asking her to start another project. "Well, I've got to go to my desk and finish-" she said, resigning.

"Oh, are we finished all ready?" M. Duval asked, his sharp, blue eyes cutting into hers with a calm sternness.

"Pardon," she muttered, knowing that she was to be dismissed.

"So," he continued, noting her avoidance to meet his eyes, "I have another assignment for you. One that I'm sure you'll enjoy."

Inside, the groan rumbled so loudly through her frame that it caused little tremors down her spine. God truly hated her, she realized. Instead of voicing her dismay and risking either expulsion or the possibility of never writing again, she faced him again, hoping that her own eyes didn't display her discontent.

"Oui?"

"Oui, I have been speaking to Henry, and we think that you're the perfect candidate to write a piece on . . ."

* * *

"You know who I hate," she announced, barging through the large oak door and into the penthouse.

"Everyone?" a voice answered, disrupting her monologue.

"You're damn near close," she groaned, pushing the hat from her head and placing it on the coat rack with her purse.

"Want something to drink?" he asked as she marched into the kitchen.

"Scotch on the rocks," she grumbled, tying an apron around her waist.

"Scotch, must have been a rough day?"

"Janlen, you don't even know! Duval gave me another story, one that I will start after I come back from my mom's, but is going to be time consuming and annoying. Plus, I'm in the middle of another story, and I really don't want to start another."

"Here."

"Thanks," she smiled taking the glass in her hands. "So, what are we going to make tonight?"

Over the last month, she and Tristan had gotten so close that his grandfather, Janlen, had become part of her extended family. Over the past two weeks it'd become a tradition to arrive at the DuGrey's hotel penthouse and help Janlen prepare dinner. Although she hadn't graduated past the making salad stage, he'd let her cut some times, when he was sure she couldn't get hurt.

Taking a sip of her drink, she let the alcohol burn the back of her throat before she let out a sigh. Tonight was a good night to have dinner, she definitely needed this.

"So Rory, when do you leave for home?"

Setting the drink down on the marble counter, Rory turned to him, ready to begin their next cooking session.

"Uh, Friday morning. We're leaving at four in the morning. I can't wait!"

"I can tell," he smiled, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

"What?"

"What?" he asked innocently.

"You look suspicious."

"I do not!" he replied, his eyes still twinkling.

"Janlen, those DuGrey eyes don't twinkle like that for just any reason. What's up?"

"Nothing," he laughed, seeing why his grandson was so in love with her.

"If you don't tell me, I'm going to tell Tristan, and he'll make you," she pouted.

"You think Tristan will care?"

"He knows? You guys are conspiring against me? That's against the rules! I hate you!" she argued, pushing her hair from her eyes and taking a hold of his lapels. "Janlen, can you pweeeezzzzz tell me? Peas? Peas and carrots?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he grinned, removing her hands.

"What if I cry?"

"Then I'll be right in believing you're neurotic."

"Janlen, please tell me," she whined, her mouth curved in that priceless pout.

"C'mon Rory, help me make dinner."

"Hey, don't think that that gets you off the hook monsieur! I want details."

A loud banging disrupted their conversation as they stood over the boiling pot.

"I'll get it!" Rory sang tearing off her apron and skipping to the door. As she skipped, she sang at the top of her lungs, "I love Jesus, I love him a bunch, 'cuz he put Skippy, in my lunch!"

When she swung open the door, she was surprised to find a wary Tristan leaning against the doorjamb with a scowl on his face as he muttered obscenities in French.

"Awe, Tristan, do you need a hug?" she asked, gently pressing a hand to his sunken cheek.

"Merde! What I need is a blunt, rusty axe to decapitate all the damn idiots of my department, but what I could settle on a nice, warm, Mary hug." He smiled down at her.

In moments, she enveloped him in her arms, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He relaxed into her arms, pressing her body close to his as he breathed in the sweet scent of her and basked in her aura. He was meant to do this for the rest of his life. He was meant to have her arms around him and his around hers. It was as if they were created for one another; they fit together like puzzle pieces, curve to curve. His arms were created to be wrapped around her body; his chest chiseled to cradle hers.

"Aw, Cherie, I made you dinner," she mumbled, her lips gently brushing the skin of his neck.

A shiver melted his spine as he unconsciously pulled her closer; their bodies completely touching.

"YOU made ME dinner?" he whispered back, speculation oozing from his lips.

"Ok, ok," she smiled against his shoulder, "So Janlen made you dinner. . . . But I cut the bread!"

He pulled away from her in order to see her face, his brow raised.

"There was only one blood soaked piece, and don't worry, we threw-"

"You hurt yourself?" he asked, worry consuming his blue orbs.

"Not badly," she said, seeing the change in his attitude.

"Where?" he asked, his brows furrowed in worry.

Sticking out her hand, she watched him inspect it and marveled at his overwhelming concern.

Slowly he inspected her hand, the bright pink band-aid sticking out like a sore thumb; no pun intended. He opened the piece of adhesive and scrutinized the stark white slice across her thumb. Then suddenly, he pressed a kiss to the break in her skin, his eyes clashing with hers.

She slowly pulled her hand away, her eyes never leaving his.

Suddenly, a loud clamoring came from the kitchen, breaking their moment.

"Uh, Janlen, are you alright?"

"Sure," he replied, tucked away in the kitchen.

Rory turned away to help Janlen when Tristan pulled her back into his arms, burying his face in her curtain of hair.

"Just- let's just be . . . you don't know how much I need this right now." he whispered, as she settled her head on his shoulder.

Janlen walked into the room and watched the two hold each other, love permeating the air. He didn't know why Rory couldn't see how in love Tristan was with her. Everyone could see the way that he looked at her. They could see the way those DuGrey eyes sparkled in her presence. The way his lips lifted into that infamous smirk, wrapping everyone in that deliriousness that had consumed his being.

"Hey, lovebirds," Janlen called, ending their moment. "Dinner's ready."

Breaking away from one another, Tristan pulled his tie loose and undid the first two buttons.

"I'm going to freshen up, ok?" he asked leaning down and pressing a kiss to her forehead. Then, he turned to his room and closed the door behind him.

"More red wine?"

"Yes please," Rory smiled tearing a piece of garlic bread and placing it in her mouth.

"So what were you saying about the project?"

"Well, it seems some wealthy philanthropists have come together for the greater good. They've decided to build a children's hospital that will specialize in terminal illnesses with some of the best doctors in the country on staff. They also are building a separate sector where the children of St. Nicholas's Orphanage will receive free care.

"It's an amazing endeavor and Duval has given me the story," she smiled. "Although I was happy to accept the responsibility of this story, I'm working on another story that's sort of important to me. I'm already buried to my eyebrows in it, and I really don't want to postpone it again . . . but the hospital is more important," she sighed.

"You can't do them both at the same time?" he asked, forking a piece of chicken.

"I can, but that'll cut into my you time and Lane time and Lorelei time and my Mocha time. I don't have a life to begin with; I don't know if I could give up what I don't have."

"Well, what is your independent project about?" Janlen asked, taking a sip of wine.

Shaking her head, she turned her eyes to her plate. "It's my own private thing. WhenI decide to tell you,I will."

Tristan looked at her for a moment. He watched the way her cheeks flamed with embarrassment and the way she let herself hide behind the curtain of hair.

After a couple of long moments of silence, Rory finally spoke,

"Have you guys found an apartment yet?"

Tristan shook his head before taking a sip of wine.

"Well, I was talking to Adrien last night as I was packing, and it turned out, his roommate, Esteban is moving out. So Adrien is looking for a new roommate."

"Why is Esteban moving out?" Janlen asked.

"He's moving to Spain with his . . . 'Life Partner.'"

"Hmm . . ."

"Isn't his apartment like yours?"

"Well, that's the great thing about our building; each loft is pretty much a compromise. Lane and I got a bigger apartment, but Adrien's apartment has another floor. He's got three bedrooms, a storage closet and two bathrooms. While Esteban was living there, the upstairs bedroom was converted into a storage area for his business- he's an interior designer. If you guys moved in, it'd be perfect. The kitchen is huge so Janlen and Adrien would be able to collaborate on dishes. Two of the bedrooms are on the main floor, so Janlen wouldn't have to worry about stairs and his doctors wouldn't have to scold him. Tristan could have the upstairs bedroom so he could take his latest conquests without disturbing the guys downstairs. And you guys would be close to Lane and I which would prove a really good idea if say, I couldn't get home and couldn't walk Mocha or if someone was out of town and needed help. It's a good idea."

"And how does Adrien feel about this?" Janlen asked, liking the idea so far.

"He's fine with it. He likes Tristan, and trusts my judgment on people. The only problem would probably be Sophie, and she doesn't live there so there's really not much problem. She's there pretty often, but she wouldn't mind.

"And the building is great. The maintenance man lives in the basement, and he's always on call. There's a security guard at the door and there's also a camera to make sure if an intruder does get in he can be identified by the police. The apartment that Adrien lives in is fully furnished, so you don't have to worry about anything accept your rooms, and there's even a balcony! It's a good walk to your office Tristan, but nothing that you can't handle, and there's always great cuisine nearby. 'Le Jour Denier' is about three blocks away so you'll never go hungry. In fact, there's no real reason not to move in to the building." She concluded searching both their expressionless faces.

Janlen turned to Tristan who had turned to him. Tristan shrugged and stabbed the vegatable with his fork.

"We'll have a look at the apartment and then decide if it will fit us," Janlen replied before picking up his fork and wrapping pasta around it.

"So Tristan, before you came, Janlen was being very cryptic, and he had this goofy smile on his face. Will you care to tell me what it was about?"

"Why Mary, I have the faintest idea what you're talking about!" Tristan grinned, his eyes sparkling in that familiar way.

* * *

"So, when are you leaving?"

Grabbing a sheet of paper from inside her file cabinet, Rory turned to Yolande.

"Tonight. I'm going to go home, take a long, perfumed bathe, eat rich food and then stay up all night watching movies with Lane and Adrien. Then at one in the morning, we will pack everything in a car and head towards l'aéroport. My plane leaves at four."

"Is Adrien taking Mocha?"

"Yeah, and he's pleased to do it. Esteban's moving out, so he's happy to have some company. Sophie is in Milan for a week, so he's a little lonely. I told him he could come with me, but he's all . . . 'I have to work because 'Le Jour Denier' is my baby and my whole life.'"

"So, he and Sophie are still going out?" she asked, arching her brow.

Rory laughed. For as long as she had known Yolande, she'd always been one to go after someone she couldn't have. When she'd first met Adrien at a Christmas party, she'd instantly fallen for him. Unfortunately for her, that was the year he'd met Sophie and he definitely wasn't going to give her up.

"Yolande, you can't keep going after him, Sophie will kill you if she finds out."

"Whose gunna' tell her," she smiled although everyone knew she was totally benign.

"So, what are you doing tonight?"

"I've got a date with mister right-over-there."

"Is he at least cute?"

"I'll have to get back to you on that one, I met him in a bar last night. I was too drunk to really survey him."

"You need to find a guy-"

"So do you." she laughed, "We both are tired old maids. Maybe we should go out some night and pick each other's dates. I'd find you a biker with six kids and a trailer. You'd find me an accountant with a mansion in Switzerland and his own ski lodge, and in the end we'd both end up switching partners."

"You'd date a biker with six kids and a trailer?"

"I'd ditch the kids, drown the trailer and take a ride on his bike. I wouldn't mind that."

"We're going guy hunting when I get back."

Sitting down on a sheaf of papers, she flicked a strand of hair from her eyes. She was a pretty stylish person which was why it was so weird of her to be without male admirers. She was tall and slim, her skin honey brown and her eyes so hazel they seemed to glow gold. Her elbow length black hair hung down her shoulders like an ebony waterfall; it's beauty almost hypnotic. Her sister was a fashion designer so she constantly wore the latest fashions without becoming a total label and yet she still never seemed to be dating someone.

"What about that guy, the American? Is he single?"

"Tristan? You think he's cute?"

"He's pretty hot! In fact, if you set me up with him, I'll be your bestest friend forever!"

Rory looked at Yolande's excited expression and for the first time since she'd met the flirtatious girl, she was speechless. Yolande wanted to be set up with Tristan, and for some reason, that freaked her out.

"Uh, I'll think about it," she whispered.

TBC . . .

A/N: Hey guys, hoped you liked this one. The first seeds of attraction are being planted into Rory's head, and now we've just got to see what happens. Hey, Review please. I really enjoy finding out what you guys think about this fic. I know I'm moving slowly, but I've got like thirty million fics that I'm writing at the same time. And I'm trying to write the last chapter to one of them and I'm suffering a lot of writer's block for a lot of stories. I'm also trying to get in the mood to read three books I've got to read for school that I really don't want to read.


	7. And things were going SO WELL!

Torn -By Yo-yo 

Disclaimer: C chappie #1.

Torn VII:

« Nom? »

« Lorelei Gilmore. »

« Date de naissance?»

"Oct. 21, 1985."

« Passeport et Identification? »

« Voila. » She smiled, handing the lady the small booklet containing her passport and I.D.

In a few short moments the desk clerk had entered the information in the computer and printed up the tickets.

"Bags?"

"Two." Rory said lifting them onto the scales.

"Any narcotics, weapons, illegal aliens . . ." the desk clerk asked as she applied the tags to the luggage.

"Non."

"Anything to declare?"

"I'm going home to my Mama!" Rory grinned cheekily.

The desk clerk grinned back, handing Rory the tickets.

"Thanks for choosing American Gateways. Hope you enjoy your flight."

Walking away from the desk, Rory pulled out the tickets and checked the information. In seconds she'd hurried back to the desk clerk, her eyes wide with worry.

"These are first-class?"

"Oui?" the clerk asked, confusion written all over her face.

"When I'd called to confirm my flight I had Coach."

"Your secretary called last night and requested an upgrade."

"Secretary?" Both Rory and Dave muttered, confusion consuming both their features.

"Oui, a Madame Countenance Rocher. I remember because I took the call. She was very pleasant."

"That wasn't my secretary, I have no idea who she was," Rory explained. "Can I have my seat back?"

"I'm sorry," the desk clerk sighed, "All the Coach seats are occupied. There are a lot of Americans on their way back home for the holiday. And the earliest flight out of here that I can find you is for three o'clock, July 5."

"Thanks anyway," Rory sighed, placing the tickets in her bag.

Within a few minutes, both Lane and Dave had accosted her, both waving first-class tickets.

"Who do you think could have done this?" Lane asked as they made their way to terminal 31C.

"I don't know, maybe my Grandma, but I'm not sure why she would do such a thing," she frowned, perplexed.

"Well, are we at least sitting next to one another?" Dave asked, glancing at Lane's ticket.

"We are," Lane answered, but after inspecting Rory's card, she sighed, "but you're not. You're sitting two seats away from us."

"Bummer," Dave sighed, ruffling back his brown curls.

"I don't know who did this, but I'm seriously pissed," Rory groaned, stuffing the ticket in her bag and taking a seat.

"Is this seat taken?" a voice muttered.

"Whatever," Rory mumbled, totally immersed in her copy of "The Vagina Monologues: The V-day Edition."

Rory, Lane and Dave had already boarded the plane and taken care of their carry-ons. As soon as Rory'd settled in her proffered seat, she'd pulled out the book and waited patiently for the 14 hour ride home.

"What are you reading?" what she suspected her seating neighbor asked jovially.

"'The Vagina Monologues,'" she sighed, snuggling deeper into her seat, half ignoring him.

"I heard it's a great show," he said, laughter lacing his comment.

Turning to give him an incredulous glare, she nearly fell out of her seat.

"Tristan!" she jumped, her eyes wide with surprise.

"Why Mary, I never knew that you were going to be on this flight!" he said with feigned shock.

Sitting across the aisle and beside Dave and Lane was Janlen, chuckling softly.

"Good morning, Rory," he smiled.

She turned to Tristan, understanding suddenly dawning. The cryptic behavior, the sly smiles, the interrogation about her flight, the secretary, first-class ticket-

"You?" she cried, incredulously. "You set this thing up? You're the reason I'm sitting here and not in my previous seat?"

Mistaking her reaction, his lips lifted in that trademark smirk and he replied,

"Mary, with your famous deductive skills, I would have though you'd have figured us out by now. And yes, it was I who came up with such an elaborate, and might I add ingenious plan. Did you enjoy it?"

Her eyes swirled with something he'd never seen before. In a matter of seconds, they'd darkened from sapphire to an almost indigo. Then, her face hardened and her eyebrows formed a slight frown line on her forehead. He'd never seen her so . . . he wasn't sure what she was feeling. Then suddenly,

"I'm trying to read, please leave me alone," she grumbled turning in her seat and facing the window.

For the rest of the 14 hour flight she sat like that, barely mumbling two words to him.

* * *

"Wowy!" a small voice called from behind the closed door.

A grin consumed her visage as the door opened and a little boy came hurtling at her, wrapping both his chubby arms around her knees.

"See," she heard her mother say in the background, "her boobs are totally bigger than mine!"

"Lorelei, I'm not going to look at my step-daughter's boobs!" Luke's gruff voice followed.

"Well you should," Lorelei reprimanded, "she's the one that keeps stretching out that tiny little baby tee that you like so much- ya' know, the one with the monkeys?"

"Mom," Rory grinned, prying off Seth, "stop trying to fix me up with Luke. I'm not Sun Yee and he's not Woody Allen."

"Thank you," he sighed, just as Owen took a hold of her, almost toppling her over.

"Rory," Lorelei grinned, taking a hold of her. "My first born, love of my life, apple of my eye, fruit of my looms- who's that?" she asked, suddenly breaking away from her daughter and eyeing the man behind her carrying the bags.

"Hi, I'm Tristan," he answered for Rory, proffering his hand.

"YOU'RE Tristan?" she asked, casting a glance at her daughter who seemed to be paying them no mind.

"In the flesh, and you must be Mrs. Danes," he grinned, placing a kiss to her hand. "Mary has told me so much about you."

"Well, she obviously hasn't told you enough. I'm Lorelei, Mrs. Danes makes me sound like some happily married woman, that kinda' hurts my dating prospects . . . and the mini-van-" she added.

"Lorelei," Luke warned, watching her as she flirted with Tristan.

"Sorry," she smiled slyly as she made her way towards Luke. "Been married almost seven years, and I still can't seem to get down that no dating thing."

"Wowy, Wowy," Seth and Owen sang, jumping around at her feet. "Guess what, we'we getting a puppy! Daddy said we could! Except, he says that Mommy can't play with it."

"Oh, why couldn't you have been my Daddy?" Rory sighed, giving Luke the infamous pout.

"Well, you remember how oblivious your mother was," he grinned.

"Hey Luke." She grinned hurtling at him and crashing against his chest. Her arms wrapped around his neck and her eyes closed as she breathed in the clean scent of him.

"Hey." He smiled, shocked by the sudden burst of emotion.

"I missed you." She whispered. "I missed your pessimistic attitude, I missed your baseball cap, I missed your plaid flannel, I missed your coffee, I missed your diner, I missed your face, I missed your advice, and I even missed your nagging about how junk food will kill us!"

"It hasn't been the same without you kid." He smiled placing his arms around her and squeezing her in return.

When she pulled away, they both heard Lorelei say to Tristan,

"Don't you agree? Her boobs are totally bigger than mine."

Before he could dignify a response, they heard Luke clear his throat in definite caution, then said, "Tristan, if you answer her, I will have no choice but to rip off your boy parts- if you get what I mean- no matter how much Rory and her mother like you."

Tristan gulped, seeing the sincerity in Luke's brown eyes as he surveyed the young man.

"Hey guys, there are still bags in the limo," Lane cried, heaving up a large bag as she entered the Danes household.

"Laney," Seth and Owen chirped as she plunked the heavy bag onto the floor.

"You guys came in a limo?" Lorelei gasped, peering out the door.

Sure enough, a black limo sat in their driveway behind Luke's old truck and her quasi-nouveau mini-van. Standing beside the limousine was an old, well dressed man and Dave, who coincidentally looked as if he were in a band.

"That's thanks to Mr. Hartford Society here," Rory replied, acidly.

"Who is that outside?" Lorelei asked, not picking up on her daughter's anger.

"That's my grandfather," Tristan said, taking the bag from Lane. "Where do these go?"

"Uh, around the corner, only door on the right." Lorelei said absentmindedly. "Lane, ask Hot Tristan's grandfather to come in." she hissed.

"Mom?"

"Lorelei." Both Rory and Luke said simultaneously.

"Wowy, Wowy." Seth and Owen jumped at her feet, vying for her attention.

"Yes babes?" she asked, finally looking down at the two.

"Come and see our wooms," Owen said, his brown curls dancing atop his head.

"Yeah, Daddy made them up in the attic, so we gotta' climb up the latta' to get there."

"You didn't have to do that." Rory said, looking at Luke.

"You'll always have a room here, Rory," Luke said, "the kids are too small to have a room so far away. It's much easier for them to be in the attic that in your room. Plus, it's a nice guest room."

"Will it be okay if I put these two to bed?"

"Ok?" Lorelei asked, finally hopping into the conversation, just as Janlen entered the house. "It'd be a miracle. We've been trying to get them to bed for the last hour, but they've been too excited, waiting for you to get in. I almost think you were right," she said looking at Luke. "I guess we shouldn't have told them Rory was coming. We could have made it a surprise."

"After twenty four years, you finally admit I'm right," Luke exclaimed. "Will you finally agree with me that coffee's bad for you?"

"Blasphemy!" Lorelei gasped, covering her ears.

"Lorelei." Luke tried.

Everyone watched in amusement as she suddenly began chanting the Meow Mix song, trying to drown out his lecture.

"Lorelei."

"Meow meow meow meow, meow meow meow meow, meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow," she sang.

Taking both hands of the boys, Rory led them upstairs to their new room.

"Hey, Rory, you didn't tell us that they were coming." Lorelei cried as soon as she bounded into the living room.

"Well I didn't know," she said indifferently, taking a seat beside Dave.

"Well, I invited them to stay at the Dragonfly Inn," she started, and then turned to Rory, her eyes wide with shock. "Did you know they were going to spend thrice as much money on some fancy shcmancy hotel out in Hartford? I told them, if you're going to be spending all your time here, then that's a big waste. So they are getting half-priced rooms; complementary of the co-owner, Mrs. Lorelei Danes."

"So, Lane, are you sleeping here tonight, or are you going home?"

"Home, Mama wants to see me, make sure I'm not possessed by the devil or have defiled my body with piercings and tattoos."

"So basically its, let's see how much praying she can get done before sunrise?"

"Basically."

"Oh, and mom, are you going to the Gilmore's Annual Independence Day Gala?"

"Yeah," Lorelei groaned. "Mom roped me into it yesterday. But I'm going to sweeten the deal by bringing the babes along with my darling hubbie."

"I'm not going." Luke said with his arm around her shoulders.

"Yes you are," she smiled, placing a kiss to his cheek.

"No I'm not. Caesar doesn't work on holidays, and neither do those damn kids, Jayden and Morgan. Jess definitely isn't going to volunteer so that leaves me in the diner with Kirk who needs his toast sliced in exactly the correct manner or he threatens to tell his mom. God I hate that man."

"Just close the diner, Luke." She sighed, looking at him. "Let Kirk tell his mom, its not like she can really hit ten miles an hour on her walker. Just throw a chair in her path and make a run for it- come!"

"Lorelei, no, you have to wear a jacket and tie to one of those things."

"So, you look good in a jacket and tie. Plus, you need to get out of that flannel every once in awhile. Please Luke, please!"

"No Lore."

"But Luke," she whispered, her eyes starting to water and her lips pouting, "please? Pwease, peas and carrots?"

Janlen grinned, remembering Rory use that same statement a couple of nights ago.

"Pwease," Lorelei beseeched. "You did it for Nicole (A/N: was that the name of that lawyer chick? I forgot)..."

"That was low," he sighed, giving in.

Everyone watched the interaction, and grinned. Finally Lane said,

"I've got to try that on you sometime." She smiled to Dave.

* * *

"It was a great turnout, huh?" Lorelei asked Rory who'd just grabbed a flute of champagne.

"Sure." She sighed taking a sip.

"Your dress is beautiful, where'd you get it?"

"Yolande's sister, Francoise, is a designer. She makes clothes for me in order to perpetuate business. People always ask me where I get my clothes and I always hand them her card."

"I never knew you'd be such a label," Lorelei teased.

"Well, Yves Saint Laurent says a lady must have a little black dress, its essential."

"And how many little black dresses do you own?"

"Seven," she replied sheepishly.

"One for everyday of the week. I think you've been hanging around here for too long."

"Mom, Hartford Society had nothing to do with it."

"Rory, you have to have gotten this from somewhere."

"Have you seen this dress? I'd totally sell my soul to the devil for it."

"Speaking of Tristan, what's with the cold shoulder?"

"What cold shoulder?"

Lorelei sighed, "C'mon, fruit of my loins-"

"Mom, eww!" Rory gasped.

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed the way he's been staring at you all night? Hell, everyone's been noticing the way he's been staring. Marilyn Cavalary is ready to kick your ass for taking all of his attention. She's been throwing herself at him all night, along with the countless others."

"Then why doesn't he pay attention to them, I'm sure they'd like it. That jerk."

"When did you start hating Evil Tristan?"

"What do you mean when? I've always hated him," she groaned, a frown marring her features.

"From the way you've been gushing about him on the phone for the past month, I'm guessing you're lying." Lorelei smiled.

"I was bamboozled. I was led to think that he'd changed. He duped me into believing that there was an actual person behind that façade he'd put up in Chilton. He tricked me into being his friend." She sighed looking away, tears sparkling in her eyes.

"Babe, what'd he do?" Lorelei posed, wrapping an arm around her daughter's shoulder.

With her impeccable timing, Emily Gilmore intruded on their conversation.

"Rory darling, what a fabulous dress! Where did you get it?"

"A friend of mine is a designer. She designed it for me. If you like, I could give you her number?"

"Why yes, after the party of course," she laughed like a delighted little schoolgirl.

"Are you having a good time," Rory asked, nodding to the glass of wine in her hands.

"Oh yes, a wonderful time," Emily smiled, swaying to the music as if she were thirteen.

Rory watched her grandmother and wondered what could be making her so carefree tonight. For the first time that she could remember, her grandmother was acting like her at a party and she was acting like her grandmother.

She was unhappy. She hated being here, and the only reason she was was because Emily had asked her. Otherwise, she'd be in Star's Hallow, watching Kirk light the fireworks while being reprimanded in the background by his mother.

"So Rory," Emily began, her eyes roaming over her guests appreciatively. "Have you noticed the attractive young man in the corner staring at you?"

"No Grandma," she lied.

"Well, everyone has. We're all waiting for either of you to ask one another to dance." She swayed; her voice wistful. "It is a beautiful night. It's not too hot, the breeze almost caresses you, it's the perfect night for a dance by candlelight."

"I don't dance with strangers, Grandma."

"He's hardly a stranger," Emily scoffed. "He attended Chilton, I don't know if you've met, but I believe he was in your year. His surname's DuGrey. He belongs to a very good, upstanding family. In fact, I was told by his mother that he is currently working in Paris."

"Wow, he sounds perfect," Rory feigned enthusiasm.

"Oh Rory please," Emily chastised, "Would it really kill you to be civil just once? I swear, you become your mother more and more every second!"

"Amen to that," Lorelei belted, raising her glass of scotch. "Sorry, I've been quiet for awhile, it scared me." She explained before Emily could rebuke.

"I'm going to get some fresh air," Rory mumbled before turning to leave the beginnings of an argument.

Just as she left the two, Janlen popped up out of nowhere, blocking her path with a generous grin.

"Dance with me."

"Excuse me?" she said, shaking her head as she felt the tell-tale signs of a migraine threatening to revel itself.

"Dance with me."

"Janlen," she sighed.

"There's a slow song coming on, and you haven't danced all night. You're the most beautiful woman here, and you haven't danced all night." He repeated. Then, his eyes grew hard and he ejaculated, "I'm going to kill that Grandson of mine! He has no manners."

As he led her to the middle of the makeshift dance floor, she sighed. "Even if he had manners and asked me to dance, I doubt if I'd say yes."

"Why not?" he asked as they swayed to the live band.

"I don't know," she sighed, resting her head on his shoulder, "he's not who I thought he was, I guess."

"And who is he?" Janlen whispered.

"Tristan Dugrey," she breathed, "King of Chilton."

When the song ended, Rory excused herself and slipped away from the party.

* * *

He watched her as she stood before him, silhouetted against the rapidly setting sun.

Since the very moment she'd arrived with her parents and siblings- who were currently asleep- she'd captured his attention and had so far hadn't failed in making sure they were only on her. She was by far the most beautiful women in the room. The dress she wore, tailored to accentuate her simple beauty. The black dress stopped at the bottom of her knees where a stripe of sheer black had intercepted the two opaque pieces. The neck was high, skimming her collarbone and was held together by two thick straps. Her dark hair was pulled into a fancy ponytail which was high at the top with a single curl against her forehead. She wore no make-up; only mascara and lip gloss with a smart black scarf around her slim neck. On her feet were strappy black pumps. And through it all, the blue of her eyes seemed to glow with an intensity that no one could ignore.

"Are you just going to stand there and look at me?" her voice asked, taking him from his thoughts.

Looking up, he was surprised to see her back facing him, she hadn't even turned around.

"How'd you know it was me?"

"Who else would come to this party to stare at a girl who wanted nothing to do with him?"

Not letting her know how much the words actually stung, he asked,

"Why are you mad at me?"

"Because of that."

"What?"

"I hurt you and you just let me. You don't get mad, you just let it deflect off that damn DuGrey shield so you don't get hurt. You always carry that damn shield and never show any true emotion."

"That's why you're-?" he began, perplexed.

"And weren't you the one saying you hated this world? Wasn't it you that despised what this place represented, what this place did to people? Wasn't it you that got sent to Military school just to get away from this?"

"What are you talking about? What is 'this'?"

"This world, where everyone stabs one another in the back, but blows kisses to one another's faces. This world where it's ok to treat people like trash and anyone without a place in Martha's Vineyard is inferior. This world that shuns out anyone who speaks up for themselves!" she exclaimed to the sky.

After many long moments, he answered her questions.

"Yes, that was me who said all those things."

She turned to him, the tears burning her clear blue eyes.

"Then if you hate this world so much, why are you doing your damnedest to put me in it?"

"I don't understand what you're talking about?" he said, his brows knit.

She sighed and leaned back against the cement railing of the balcony.

"Everything that I own, I work for. Everything that I do is for me and those that I love. Sure, I get a little extra money at the end of the month from my inheritance, but I don't spend it on extravagant things. Right now, I'm saving up to buy a house in Star's Hallow; not something extravagant, but someplace that I can call home during my holidays or when I finally decide to move back.

"I travel all around the world for my job. I've got good friends who would do anything for me. I've got a family who cherish me. I love my life, I love the way I live, and I love the fact that everything I do is my choice. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Nope, not a clue," Tristan said almost comically as he came to stand beside her.

"I'm saying, I didn't buy a first-class plane ticket, not because I can't, but because I don't want to. I don't go to parties like these, not because I'm not invited, but because I don't like them. I don't wear jewels and expensive clothes, not because I can't afford them, but because that's not who I am."

"What are you trying to say?" he asked, her words baffling him.

"I don't want to be Cinderella when she'd found her prince, I'd much rather be Lorelei. I don't want to be some socialite. I want you to understand that I don't care. I don't care about the money that you have, in fact, I'd rather you had none. I don't care for the extravagance. I'd rather simple. I'd rather a daisy to a red rose; I'd rather a promise to a colorless diamond; I'd rather my friends to an expensive present."

"So in other words: coach good, first-class bad?"

"Exactly," she smiled, her eyes still swirling with sadness.

"So all this was over a plane ticket?"

She shook her head and turned to him.

"All this was a freak out because . . ." she mumbled, inaudibly.

"Excuse me?"

"You scared me."

"How?"

"P. J. Harvey. The way you thrust those tickets at me, forcing me to go; the same way you did with the place ticket. You'd made me think you hadn't changed. You made me think you were still that guy from Chilton that wouldn't let himself be told no to and that only cared about his pride and no one else. You made me afraid that I'd grown to love only a mere mirage." She finished quietly.

He looked down at her, suddenly understanding. She didn't want to get hurt. She'd wanted to like him for so long that she was afraid he would let her down.

Gently placing a finger to her chin, he guided her face upwards so their eyes met.

As soon as their eyes clashed, he could feel all the air escape his body. Suddenly, he felt as if he were trapped underwater and couldn't breathe. The blue of her eyes were wrapping around him, and strangely, he didn't care for breath- only the feel of her beside him.

Her eyes fluttered close as their faces drew closer. She could feel his warm breath tickle her skin, cradling her in his warmth. His lips had barely brushed hers when-

"Hey guys, the fireworks are starting!"

TBC . . .

A/N: Don't you just hate it when you're locked in a tender embrace and some asshole ruins the whole moment? Well, this is by far, one of my crappiest chapters, well, except the end. The end was ok. But I'd like to know how you feel about it, so R&R pwwwweaaaaasssssse!!!!! Peas and carrots?

W/ Luv,

Yo-yo


	8. Finally Realized

Torn -By Yo-yo 

Disclaimer: C chappie #1.

Torn VIII:

"Wowy, Wowy," Owen burst into the room with Seth trailing behind him, and jumped onto her bed.

"What what?" she asked looking up from her laptop, taking off her glasses.

"Can you wead for us?" Owen asked, raising a book in his hand for all to see.

"Yeah, can you wead for us?" Seth asked, plopping down on her bed and resting his head in the palms of his hand.

"Where's Mom?"

"She's teachin' Twistan how to change Wiwy's diapa'. He's got his nosey pinched." Seth mimicked Tristan's reaction.

"Aww, what would you like me to read?"

"The Cat in the Hat Comes Back." Owen answered placing the book on the bed and opened it for her.

Closing the screen to her laptop, Rory settled in the middle of the bed with Owen and Seth on either side of her. Sending a placid smile to both kids, she opened the book and launched the tale of a boisterous cat and two kids who needed to learn to say no.

* * *

"Hey, Ror-" Tristan began but stopped as he entered the room.

His eyes settled on the sight before him and he couldn't help the smile that curled his lips.

Rory was lying in the middle of her bed with Owen and Seth asleep on either side of her. On the nightstand beside her bed the lamp was still on, and 'The Cat in the Hat Comes Back' lay open above Owen's head, still open to the page they'd left off on.

What brought the twinkle to his eye was the thought that this was how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to walk in one day, pick up the baby and enter his bedroom to find Rory Gilmore lying in his bed with two of their kids lying beside her, sleeping peacefully. He was supposed to lean against the doorjamb and watch the incredible sight, listen to the gentle breathing of his two little boys, and feel the warmth of his baby in his arms.

He twisted his head and looked at little Lily in his arms. She, too, was looking at the trio before her, with one of her little hands in her mouth. Her blue eyes twinkled as she turned her head and looked at Tristan . . . and that was when the first tear fell.

It was that moment when he realized how much he actually loved Rory Gilmore. That was the moment when he realized he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. That was the moment when he knew none of it ever mattered, compared to that moment. He loved her. He loved her and needed her in his life forever.

And then Lily leaned her head on his shoulder and brought her chubby hand to his sunken cheek.

"Tristan?" Lorelei came from behind, ready to hand him the bottle in her hand. "You forgot th-"

He turned to her, and the words fell from her lips. The look on his face was unmistakable. Before he could reply she reached up her arms and placed them on his face. With the simple flick of her thumb, she wiped away his tears and said,

"I know."

He turned back to look at her and sighed.

"I want this . . . I want her."

"And she wants you . . . she just doesn't know it yet." She shrugged with a crooked smile.

He looked down at the little girl lying in his arms, and smiled.

"Hey, why don't I take Lily and you go back to the Inn, and turn in for the night. Tomorrow is going to be tough enough; you should at least get some sleep."

"Yeah," he breathed handing Lily to Lorelei who pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Tristan DuGrey, it would be an honor for you to be a part of my family. And I hope that my daughter, with all her expensive education, will realize what everyone else does, before it's too late."

"Me too." He managed a smile before kissing both the girls and leaving.

* * *

It was two a.m.

Two a.m. and he still could not fall asleep.

Tristan lay on his back, his eyes staring blindly at the ceiling, the mosaic tile bleeding together to form a muted image.

His mind kept reverting back to the night before, when he held her in his arms, and tasted her breath on his lips. The night the fireworks exploded in his eyes, and fireflies danced in his heart. The night her lips brushed against his and his fingertips ignited with the touch of her skin. The night when she was so close . . . and was pulled so far away.

His heart had hammered in his chest, beating against his ribs as if attending a Korn concert and was in the middle of the moshpit. Her body was so close to his- he could almost feel her heart beating against his chest- and her lips a breath away. . . and then-

"Hey guys, the fireworks are starting!"

When Lorelei burst through the balcony doors he felt his heart explode in his chest and had to catch himself on the railing. When his breath finally returned back to his body, their eyes met again, and he could feel his whole being crash into her eyes.

"Let's go," she whispered, taking his hand in hers and turned to leave the veranda.

The entire night they stood beside one another, hand in hand, back to the way it was before, only this time, their almost-kiss was weighing down on their backs. It wasn't until very late, when they were sent to awaken the babes, that they finally spoke about what had happened.

"Look Rory, I'm sorry," he breathed as they stood behind the door.

"I'm sorry too," she looked into his eyes; hers seemed to search his for something unspoken.

"I shouldn't have done that, it was wrong-"

"It shouldn't have happened like that-" she'd said simultaneously, dropping her eyes.

"What?" they both asked at the same time.

"You thought it was a mistake?"

"You didn't?"

She looked him in the eyes- blue on blue.

He was underwater, chasing a siren. Every moment that he could feel her beside him, she was just an arm stretch away, just an inch from his grasp. Her song had captivated him, her beauty intoxicated him, and her eyes suffocated him. He needed to reach her, to find her, to understand that part of her that seemed to speak to him . . . but first, he needed to feel her.

"We're good friends, Tristan, I'm not going to deny that," she shook her head, flicking the curl from her forehead. "But, we're not ready for that . . . I'm not ready for that and I think we should really take the time as friends before we conquer what we're not ready for."

He nodded his head, and smiled,

"At least you don't think that was a mistake."

A cute little chuckle escaped her lips as she leaned forward and pressed her head against his shoulder.

"Tristan," she grinned looking up at him with twinkling eyes, "every kiss that I've ever given to you was never a mistake."

"You've only given me one kiss," he pointed out.

"It wasn't a mistake," she smiled.

"Could've fooled me, you cried the first time," he noted.

"Yeah- well, you were a horrible kisser." She quipped, with a brow raised.

"Wait," he gasped, "you said that it was a nice kiss . . . not at all crying material?"

"What can I say, I'm a great actress." She shrugged.

"Hey, give that back!" he cried looking down at her.

"Give what back?"

"That was my smirk, you stole my smirk!"

Rolling her eyes, she gave him a toothy grin, "You can have it back."

"You bet I can, you thief. I should report you to the authorities. First you're stealing teenage boys' hearts, now you're stealing their smirks. What's next 'Sticky Fingers Gilmore?'"

"Shut up," she smacked his arm and rolled her eyes, "and go wake the babes!"

"Sticky-Fingers!" he breathed, ruffling back his hair.

A soft laugh, like the tinkling of water, fell from her lips.

* * *

"Hey Ror, thanks for doing this for me," Luke smiled wiping his hands off with a dishtowel.

"Luke, you should know I would never turn down unlimited, free coffee."

"Thank God, I was afraid I was going to have to ask Lore. She would eat this place out of business if she could."

"If only I could live up to her greatness," she said with a wistful smile.

"I'm hoping you do," Luke grinned pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"So, speaking of your wife, what do I do when the coffee fiend comes in?"

"Give her three cups of coffee . . . no more, no less."

"What if the babes tag along?"

"Two . . . no more, no less."

Standing behind the counter, she turned to Caesar, "An order of bacon please."

"Rory, don't abuse your power," Luke warned.

"Luke, you've met me before. I could have ordered SO much more!"

"You're right," he sighed, scratching his head and replacing his cap.

"Remember to send Jess in at noon; I'm spending lunch at Lane's."

"She's really sick, huh?"

"Yeah, the flu."

"Well, we're preparing some soup, just for her. Just remind Caesar when you're ready to go, and he'll get it ready for you."

"Aye, aye captain," she saluted.

"And when Kirk comes in, you cannot feed him dairy. He knows not to eat it, but will insist. Then when he gets an allergic reaction, he threatens to sue."

"No dairy for Kirk, check." She nodded.

"And Ms. Patty cannot weasel her way out of paying. She's been sexually harassing me for years now, and it's time she pays up."

"New Mommy must pay for sex, check."

"That's gross," he scowled. "And if Morgan or Jayden do show up, they get to bus."

"Teenagers are my slaves, check and mate," she nodded.

"Thanks again kiddo."

"Hey, Luke?"

"Yea?"

"Can you accidentally on purpose hit Tristan on the finger and make him bleed?" she asked while twisting her fingers.

"Rory, that's mean," he frowned. "I thought he was your friend?"

"Oh, he is," she reassured him, her blue eyes wide. "I'm thinking of him. For rich people, manual labor scars are like war scars. I'm just thinking of him. In five years he'll be sitting by the fire with his supermodel wife and his two adorable blond, blue-eyed angels. And in an animated voice he'd recount to them the day he almost died while nailing a spot for a photo. He'll swear he almost saw God during his near death experience."

Luke chuckled, "I'll see what I can do, but I can't promise anything."

"Well, good luck out there, make me proud." She leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Ok, bye Rory, and tell Lore and the babes I said I'll see them later."

"Bye. And Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're part of the family."

"So am I," he grinned before heading out the front door, the tinkling of the bell reverberating behind him.

* * *

"Caesar," she called placing the order on the rack and turning back to the patron. "Coffee?"

"And a piece of pie?" he asked, taking a few napkins from the dispenser as she put the coffee cup before him.

The bell on the door tinkled again as she meted the coffee into the cup. Looking up, she sighed. Coming into the diner were Dean, Lindsey and Daisy, their five year old.

Placing the coffee pot back in its holder, she left the comfort of the counter and made her way towards their table.

"Rory!" Dean smiled, looking up at her in surprise. "It's been around the town that you're back; we've just been waiting to see you."

"Yeah," Lindsey smiled, pushing her blonde curls from her face.

"Well, we've been busy. In fact, tomorrow I'm driving up to Boston to go visit my Dad and Gigi."

"So, how've you been?" Lindsey asked, "Are you back for the holidays?"

"Fine and yes. In fact, the night before last we spent at the Gilmore's Annual Independence Day Gala. It was fun, great fireworks." She nodded, pulling her notepad from her apron.

"Have you decided to move back yet?"

"Not yet. Paris is exciting and fun. I love Star's Hallow, but I plan on living abroad for a few more years."

"Ya' know, I heard a funny thing the other day." Dean smiled with a contemplative look.

"And what might that be?" she smiled, winking at Daisy.

"Hi Wowy!" Daisy yelled, still not able to differentiate between her inside voice and outside voice.

"Hey Daisy," she leaned down and played a kiss to Daisy's cheek.

"That Tristan DuGrey and his Grandfather were staying at the Dragonfly Inn, and that they were personal guests of yours? Isn't Tristan the guy from Chilton who got into a fight with me the one time?" Dean grinned.

"That one time, doesn't sound familiar. Now if you had said 'that couple of times', I would know what you're talking about," she smirked. "And they are personal guests of mine, and we've become friends." She said straightening herself.

"Is he as great a person as before?"

"He's different . . ." she smiled to herself, tapping her pen on the notepad. "So, what would you like?"

"Pancakes!" Daisy bounced in her seat, her blonde pigtails flying up in the air.

"Good choice and the 'rents?

"I'll have the ham and cheese omelet, and orange juice." Lindsey put down her menu.

"And Dad?"

"That makes me sound old," he grinned. "But I'll have toast and a paper. And some coffee."

"Good choice, old timer."

"I'm not old!"

"Sure, you just basically said no to sugar. It's like you're afraid your dentures might fall out."

"She's right," Lindsey laughed. "You're starting to sound like your Dad."

"I'm only twenty-five . . . damn, now I'm going to have to start acting like an idiot."

"That'll definitely make you appear younger," Lindsey nodded.

"Ok, two donuts and a large glass of milk, and chocolate milk for Daisy."

"Chocolate Milk!" she grinned bouncing even more, her brown eyes twinkling.

Turning to place the order into Caesar, the bell tinkled again and in walked Lorelei and the babes.

"Hey chickadee," she grinned sitting at a table with little Lily on her lap.

"Hey Mom," she smiled placing the order in to Caesar and going in the back to get out some milk.

"So, my hubbie's got you working for him?"

"Well, you got him and half the town working for you, even Kirk has signed up for the save the Gilmore-Danes roof fund. I'm amazed that there's even anyone in here."

"Yeah, well we give a little and take a little." She shrugged.

"So, Mrs. Danes, what will it be?"

"Giant blueberry muffin with the largest cup of coffee here . . . that means the pot. Applesauce for baby Lily," then she turned to Owen and Seth, "What about you two?"

A smile curled her lips as Seth and Owen launched into an elaborate breakfast order.

* * *

For the millionth time that day, the bell tinkled on the door, informing Rory of another customer. With Daisy screaming in the corner, Seth and Owen making a ruckus upstairs, Lily squealing as Lorelei changed her diaper upstairs, and that damn bell's incessant ringing, she felt the familiar pounding in her head that was usually associated with a hangover.

"Hey beautiful," a voice rose above the noise.

"Will you miss me when I commit suicide?"

"When are you going to do that?"

"In five minutes, any last words?"

"Yeah, I want my Ramones t-shirt back, along with my Oxford sweater and my White Sox cap."

"Sorry, I'm being buried in that, anything else?" she asked looking up from the counter she'd been wiping.

"Don't go. If you do, Miss Patty will have nothing to hold her back from pinching my ass."

"So true," she grinned looking around him. "So, what brings you here? Aren't you supposed to be building a roof?"

"The men said I'm useless, they sent me to retrieve fuel."

"We don't sell Gatorade." She shrugged trying her damnedest not to look at his sculpted bare chest. She had to check herself from leaning over and pressing the pads of her fingers against his skin. She wanted to press her tongue against his hard, golden skin, tasting the saltiness of him and hear the hissing of his breathing. She wanted to run her fingers over his flat nipples until he breathed her name, passion dripping thickly from his lips as his eyes fluttered close and he nuzzled into the crook of her neck.

"Well you're in luck, because Gatorade isn't on my list. Instead I'd like five double cheeseburgers, no pickles . . ." he began reading from a tiny list in his hands. After reading the list, he looked up, ". . . Why didn't you write any of that down?"

"Sorry, against dining policy."

"What dining policy?" he asked with a brow raised.

"No shoes, no shirt, no service."

"I've got on shoes." He insisted.

"It's an all for one package, and you're missing some key items, sorry."

"What if I give you a dollar?"

"Nothing costs a dollar anymore except long distance, and all the people I know live here."

"What if I give you a pony?"

"I already got one at the Dragonfly. His name is Buttercup."

"What if I give you liquor?"

"Preaching to the choir, I already downed a few tumblers." She quipped.

"Uh, Dave Navarro?"

"Ding, ding ding! You bring in sexy lips, and I'll serve you."

"Ya' know, saying that has just pushed the women's movement back four hundred years?"

She shrugged.

"After Brittany Spears sang that song, 'I'm a Slave for you,' there's been nothing to push back. She completely led us back to the Victorian era- do you want your shoe shined, governor?" she ended in a bad English accent.

"Hey Ror," a voice announced as that damn bell rang again, "It's lunch time, I'm takin' over."

Jess rounded the counter, pulling an old Nirvana t-shirt over his head and taking off his tool belt.

"Hey Hollywood." He nodded to Tristan.

"New nickname?" she raised a brow.

"I'm from the bloody East Coast; I'm no more from Hollywood than you are." He groaned, running his hands through his disheveled hair.

"It's 'cuz you're a pretty boy." Jess said while placing the notepad Rory gave him in his back pocket.

"You think I'm pretty?" he gasped in mock exclamation.

"Shut up."

"Because I've always dreamed of being called pretty by Jess Mariano. I mean, he's so hot! If only he weren't married to that damned Paris Gellar, we would so run away to Canada and get the proof of our love recognized!"

"I'm not leaving Frenchy for you," Jess groaned, "Now Johnny Depp, maybe. But you . . . nah, Hollywood."

"But I love you..." Tristan began with a Southern Accent.

"You guys are mental." Rory rolled her eyes, turning to Caesar and asking for Lane's soup.

"You're leaving?" Tristan asked, watching as she pulled free her apron and placed it on the counter top.

"Lane's still sick; I'm bringing her soup and gossip. It seems that Ms. Patty was caught kissing Taylor in the gazebo last night." She smiled.

In moments, everyone in the diner had pulled out their cellphones and were whispering about the latest taste of drama.

"Really?" both Tristan and Jess asked leaning closer.

"Nah, but it would be great, wouldn't it?"

Caesar came out and handed Rory a large Tupperware dish, and went back into the kitchen.

"I'll walk you to the Kim's."

"Thanks." She grinned, pulling her hair into a ponytail and freeing herself from the counter. "And Jess, no dairy for Kirk, Ms. Patty has to pay, Jayden and Morgan bus, and don't serve Tristan-"

"Hey!" he reproached.

"No shoes no shirt, Man," Jess called. "The golden rules."

* * *

"Hey Lane." Rory grinned entering the bedroom she knew like her own.

"What's that you got there?" she asked through a stuffy nose and watery eyes.

"Soup, specialty from Lu-"

"Mama, mama!" Lane screamed in a husky voice.

In moments she heard the heavy poundings of Mrs. Kim's feet on the stairs and then she was in the doorway.

"She's trying to kill me, Mama." She replied when Mrs. Kim confiscated the Tupperware dish from Rory.

"Rory, I thought you would know better. You live with her for God's sakes. Don't bring her food; she's been throwing up at the sight of it for days now!"

"I'm sorry." She looked at Lane, "really."

When Mrs. Kim had left, Rory sat down at the chair beside her bed.

"So, have you seen Dave yet?"

Lane shook her head.

"Mama's convinced that he gave me the flu, so we've only spoken on the telephone, monitored of course by 'Mommy Dearest.'"

"I'm sorry that you're sick during your holiday."

"It's okay; it's my own fault really. I should have taken my vitamin C. I'm a doctor for god sakes. I know all that damn recycled air on the plane would eventually screw me! I know that whenever one person on a plane has a cold, everyone gets it. Why didn't I just take the damn supplements? I'm a failure!"

"No you're not!" she frowned. "Ya wanna' watch some soap operas? My mom taped a few weeks of General Hospital; we can make fun of this week's Lucky?"

"Oh, I don't know, after the original, each one has been a step down from the one before it. Why won't Jonathan Jackson realize that he doesn't have a movie career anymore and just go back to the show? Then he could build up his fan base again!"

"I don't know, but Tuck Everlasting wasn't a good enough movie for him to think he's made it."

"I agree," she groaned. "Let's watch."

TBC . . .

A/N: Took me long enough. I'm sorry, but finding inspiration for this story has been weaning. It took me a long time to write this chapter, but I'm glad I did it because that cliffhanger was just mean. Even I was asking myself what happened. I hope this answers a lot of questions and makes you happy.

w/ luv, Yo-yo


	9. Pillow Talk

Torn -By Yo-yo 

Disclaimer: C chappie #1.

Pillow Talk:

"How ya' feelin'?" A voice whispered.

She groaned a little as she felt the bed dip as someone slipped beneath the covers and pulled her closer.

She didn't even have to think about whose neck she nuzzled as she moved closer and breathed in the clean scent of him. She buried her head in his chest and continued to sleep, reveling in the hard, warm, caressing feel of him.

It seemed he'd fallen asleep. When she awoken, she could hear his soft breathing rumbling against his chest. Pushing herself forward, she pressed a kiss to his forehead and tried to slip out of the bed. But his arm shot out and grabbed her around the waist, halting her retreat. A groan of protest escaped his lips and he buried his head in her neck, breathing in the scent of her hair.

"Don't go," he breathed, pulling her beneath him as he sprawled himself over her, their legs tangling automatically.

"I'm hungry," she whined softly in a voice lighter than a breath.

"Too comfortable, too warm," he sighed, pressing a kiss against her skin, his head on her heart.

"I need coffee," she groaned opening her eyes, finally realizing how familiar, how domestic their position and conversation felt.

His hand found hers and their fingers intertwined. That was when her heart began to pound against her chest and her breathing started to come out in pants. She felt hot, sweat began to glisten her skin and she struggled out of the bed, away from his arms.

"Rory," he groaned, looking up at her, sleep and aggravation both twisting his lethargic visage.

"It's late," she rationalized, pushing her hair from her face and pulled on the shirt she wore. "I'm going to get some coffee and Tylenol."

"Can you bring me some?" he whispered, lying back onto the pillow, a look of concern on his face.

She nodded slightly, and turned into the kitchen. Pushing back her hair, she closed her eyes and waited for the painful knocking in her head to stop. Yesterday she and Tristan had spent the day with four energized kids visiting her father in Boston. Davey, Gigi, Seth and Owen were a definite handful, and she was definitely feeling the aftereffects now.

Heading straight for the Mr. Coffee she pulled free the Post-It note. It read,

Hey, Mini me,

Lily's asleep in the bassinette in the living room, I saw Tristan go in your room this morning, wink wink, nudge nudge, and the babes are with Grandma today. Sleep off the rest of the day, and if you need anything, Luke is in the diner and I'm only a phone call away. And remember, tonight is Pretty Woman, Notting Hill, and Mystery Movie night, so remember to drink a ton of coffee. I'm going to miss seeing you tomorrow morning.

-Sigh

Maxi-you (get it, because you're Mini-me?)

She smiled to herself as she grabbed the already made coffee and took a sip of the intense, dark liquid. A sated smile graced her features as she closed her eyes and sniffed in the nutty scent. And then,

"Wawawawa," a little gurgling sound came from the sitting room. With the smile still on her face, she bet herself twenty that Lily was awake.

She strode over to the small white crib, where Lily lie with her fist shoved in her mouth and her chubby little legs kicked the air. Her little brown curls wrapped around her cherubic face, and her big blue eyes glistened with mirth.

"Wawawawa," she removed her hand from her mouth, revealing her two tiny bottom teeth and eight tiny fingers (with two adorable, chubby thumbs). She reached out her arms, asking to be lifted and held.

"Hey babe," Rory gathered Lily into her arms, and turned back towards her bedroom. She gently stroked the baby soft hair and pressed kisses to the smooth, oh-so-soft, round cheek.

"Wawawawa," she kept mumbling, even as Rory placed her down on the bed beside Tristan.

"I hear a baby," he groaned, reaching up from the depths of sleep, regaining consciousness.

"Here," she nudged her coffee to his lips which he gratefully gulped down. "Hey," she cried in protest, "Don't take it all! Now you've got to make more. There's none left."

"I don't think Lily needs a lesson in sex-ed right now." He breathed, sitting up on the bed, bringing the little girl in his arms, pressing a kiss to her little cheeks.

"She's in love with you, ya' know?"

"I love her more," he peered into her big blue eyes, and made little faces.

Lily giggled at his funny faces, the apples of her cheeks growing redder as mirth spilled through her lips and wrapped around all three of them. There was a silence whirling around the room, and her baby giggles pierced the atmosphere, filling Rory with that familiar, domestic feeling that had just a few minutes ago made her heart pound in her chest.

"I wish I had my camera right now, you're good with her. Kids are attracted to you."

"Maybe because I'm so hot!" he flashed a smirk.

"No, maybe because you're pretty much their age in your mind set." She grinned, tossing a pillow at him.

"Hey, no fair, you can't abuse me with precious cargo in my arms. Plus, you know I can't hit you back."

"That's the idea," she leaned over and pressed a kiss to Lily's forehead.

"I can picture you as a mother." He breathed.

"Oh, I don't know about that. I barely know what to do with kids. You saw me yesterday; I could barely keep my sanity. Kids are . . . energetic."

"Oh I don't know. I can picture you pregnant with that beautiful glow, and this round tummy peeking from a t-shirt that says 'Get Outta' my way, I'm pregnant and hungry.' I can just imagine you sitting in the dog park reading a book while your husband gently rubs tiny 'baby' and whispers sweet nothings to your belly. I can picture you a few years from now sitting with your husband in bed, whispering over baby, gently stroking its back with a loving hand."

"Really," she wrinkled her nose and laughed, picturing the world that his words painted. "Wow, you've constructed my whole life. May I ask who might I marry?"

"You may, but you haven't met him yet," he smirked dubiously, his blue eyes glittering.

"Oh, so I guess he isn't you." She smiled; something both she and Tristan could not recognize flickered in her eyes.

"I didn't say that."

"Well, if it's any consolation, by the way you hold Lily in your arms, you're going to be a great dad. The way that you protect her and love her tells me that you'll be a perfect dad someday with your tiny blond haired, blue eyed army of miscreants. You're definitely the daddy type."

"Me, dad? Nah." He shook his head, looking down at the baby. "I don't think I'd be a good Dad."

"Why not?" she whispered, ruffling his blond tresses.

"No reason, it'd just cramp my style." He shrugged it off.

She could tell he was lying. The way his eyes moved away from her and instead rested on Lily. The way that his fingers clenched a little tighter against her tiny frame and his face tightened. He looked as he did in Chilton, as he did at the party last night, as he did before he'd found himself. He looked . . . cold.

With the shift in his mood and countenance, Lily sensed his weariness and began to wriggle out of his grasp; little tears escaping her big eyes.

"What did you mean before- ya' know, with the sex-ed?" Rory whispered, remembering his statement a few moments before.

She leaned over and rubbed Lily's tummy, quelling her little cries of protest as Tirstan loosened his grip and tried to cheer her up.

With burning red ears and an embarrassment creeping up his face, his mood changed and he muttered. "Let's just say, you look especially hot this morning."

"What, no I don't," she gesticulated her arms, confusion drenching her features. "I'm wearing old boxers and your Ramones t-shirt, how is this hot?"

"Believe me, very hot! In fact, I'm definitely starting to rethink my dress."

"What are you wearing?" she narrowed her eyes, realizing it wasn't a shirt.

"I'd prefer not to show you, at least, not with Lily in the room," he looked at her and she fell silent.

She hadn't seen that look from him since the night of their almost- kiss where his azure pools had darkened to an almost black. But there was something swirling in them. Something that drew her into him. Something that made her want to jump out of her skin and crawl into him. Something that made her crave the feel of his arms around her body, his chest cradling her in his, and his fingers gently skimming over her skin, making lust roll over frame, and warming her thoroughly.

"Don't tell me you walked all the way here from the Dragonfly wearing only boxers! Or even . . . dare I say it . . . briefs?" she asked, attempting to keep the exasperation in her voice.

"What do you think I am- dumb? This is Star's Hallow; I wouldn't run around only in boxers, and I don't wear briefs. No, I'm wearing sweatpants." He lifted his head matter of factly.

"Damnit, now I know why my mom added those 'wink wink, nudge nudges', you're practically naked. I bet she already told Ms. Patty and it's already across town. In a matter of moments people will be pelting at our door, hoping to be interrupting us in the middle of very hot, very vocal, very animalistic sex!" She scowled scooting away just the slightest.

"You see, its comments like those that make it impossible for me to not be so . . . excited around you."

"Tristan-" she rolled her eyes.

"I'm not trying to pressure you," he whispered leaning closer to her, "I'm just going to tell you the truth from now on. You make me hot, Rory. You make me wish I was with you so that I can do all those things that I want to."

"Like what," she raised a brow.

"Like pressing my lips against yours and making love to you until you can't get out of bed anymore, not that you'd want to anyway. I'd bring myself so far into you that we would cease to exist as two people anymore. I would love you so tenderly that we'd be breathing one another's breaths, tasting one another's body, whispering one another's words."

"Tristan-"

"Have you ever been in love?"

Her eyes flew up to meet his face. His face was that of stone, scrutinizing her intently as she dipped her head, looking away from his piercing stare.

For many long moments, she said nothing. She was thinking, wondering about every aspect of her love life. Questioning her feelings towards everyone she'd ever dated.

"Have you ever been in love?" he repeated, softer this time . . . concerned.

"No," she admitted, looking up into his endless pools.

"Never?" he asked his eyes wide with surprise.

"I convinced myself I was in love with Dean, but I didn't know what love meant back then, I still don't. I loved Jess, as a brother . . . I mistook it as romantic attraction. I wasn't in love with him though. I thought I was in love with Jacob, but he proved me wrong! I knew I was never in love with Guy, but he was a great friend. I've never been in love, I don't think."

"Who is Jacob?" Tristan asked, the first time he'd ever heard the name corresponding directly to her affaires.

"One of the reasons I went to France." She breathed, moving into a more comfortable position besides him with a hand rubbing Lily's back and her head on his shoulder.

"We met in Harvard. We started out as friends. Our dorms were on the same floors, we were both in the same year and in the same journalism program. We both had sort of rocky paths, he was from New York, and I had a few things in common with him. We were inseparable and then we decided to start dating. This wasn't bad, until we started competing for the same internship, which I got and he got pissed. After that everything just went spiraling down. He just got mean, and everything was just horrible. I didn't know he was that much of an asshole until he got hurt. He was a jerk, and in the end, I knew I hadn't fallen in love with him."

"He sounded like a jerk."

"He wasn't at first, he just . . . he became Paris with a penis. He was determined and only showed his true colors when he felt threatened. He wasn't worth it I guess. In the end, I definitely couldn't mean more to him than his career was. I'd never be happy with him." she sighed.

"I'm sorry that you invested so much time in him, though. He was a real creep."

"I don't know. He was a cool friend for awhile, I just didn't mean as much to him as I needed. He needed someone who would never challenge him. He didn't care as much."

"What kind of man do you think you'll eventually end up with?"

"Smart, funny, determined, but not obsessed. He wouldn't mind traveling a little. He can't be upset by my job, and I in turn can't hate him for his. He's gotta' love me, and my neurotic mom, and has to be patient with me, because you know how oblivious and slow I am. He's gotta' be my soul mate . . . the one I'm supposed to be with."

"Have you ever been in love?"

Handing Lily back to Rory, he shook his head.

TBC . . .

A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in like years, but uh . . . yeah, it took some time to write this chapter. I hoped you liked it, I like that they're getting close but aren't so lovey- dovey with one another. If they were, I'd despise my characters, and that's always a bad thing. I guess that you understand this fic will have long periods in which I don't write, but I'm not giving up. I'm just really busy, and very mentally constipated as far as all my stories go. I'm still writing all . . . four of my fics which are: Llef ylil yhw, Nowhere Man, Strawberry Fields and Torn, but I'm a senior now, so finding the time and the mindset to sit down and type is horrible. I still don't know what college I'm going to next year, and basically all . . . ALL of my friends have decided . . . except my lovely Lou-pez, I love the land of the indecisive . . . sigh . . .

W/ luv and anxiety, Yo-yo


	10. Too Much Pressure

Torn -By Yo-yo 

Disclaimer: C chappie #1.

Torn X:

"Wowy, Wowy, Wowy, Wowy, Wowy, Wowy . . ." Seth and Owen screeched as they hurtled into the house, scrambling inside her bedroom where she sat at her desk while Tristan was feeding Lily on the bed.

"What, what what what what what?" she replied swiveling around in her seat, and throwing a smile at the two boisterous ragamuffins.

"Guess what Grandpa taught us today? Guess, guess?" Owen hopped happily, a huge grin consuming his chubby features.

"He said-" Owen began when Seth interjected.

"I wanna' tell heh," Seth whined.

"But I wanna' tell heh." Owen spoke up.

"How about you tell heh da' fiwst pawt, and I'll tell heh da' second?" Seth compromised.

"But da' second pawts da' funniest, I wanna' tell heh da' second pawt."

"Ok, wock, papah, skissows." Seth turned his back to both Rory and Tristan and pumped their fists.

Rory raised a brow to Tristan who was obviously trying to hold back a laugh. The two boys were utterly adorable. They were definitely Gilmore- Danes.

"Ok," they both whirled around and Seth came bounding at her. "What's da' diffewence between bwoccoli an' boogews?"

He'd obviously lost the game.

"Kids don't eat-"

"Bwoccoli!" Seth belted, completely breaking the rules he'd set.

Suddenly Owen had pounced on his little brother, and soon they were rolling around her bedroom floor, Seth squealing in protest and Owen growling in rage. Soon there was a symphony of yells coming from the tiny bedroom, echoing in Rory's head.

Owen and Seth were both screaming to the top of their lungs as they wrestled on her bedroom floor. Lily had abandoned her meal of strained peas and was screeching from all the commotion her two brothers were causing. And Tristan wasn't helping at all. In fact, he was laughing to himself, quite audibly.

Getting up from her seat, she pulled Owen from Seth and dragged him into the hallway.

"Ya' know just because he makes you mad doesn't give you the right to beat him up." She chided the red faced boy with tears running down his cheeks.

"But I really wanted to tell you da' joke. He wuined it!"

"He didn't ruin anything. It was a cute joke, and just because he said a part of it didn't mean it wasn't any less funny. You're supposed to be the big brother. Every time that he makes you mad you just can't go and hurt him. You're supposed to show him that you're above that. That only babies fight when their mad."

"Yeah, he's a baby." Owen grinned, his tiny nose crinkling.

"He's not a baby, just not mature yet." She grinned, loving her little siblings. "Now where's Grandma and Grandpa? Weren't they supposed to drop you off?"

Owen shrugged and dashed back to her room where she heard Lily immediately squeal with delight.

Rubbing her head, she ventured out of the opened front door, tugging on her white tank top.

"Rory," Emily exclaimed, turning from her conversation with Dave. "Your friend here was just telling me about your escapades in Paris."

"There were no escapades," Rory shook her head, waving Dave, Emily and Richard into the house. "How's Lane?"

"Her mom finally let me see her today . . . she made me pack," he frowned. "She's throwing up still, and she's only consuming liquids. When we get back, I'm taking her to the hospital. It's been two weeks now, the flu should have already taken its course."

"I'm sure she's fine," she clapped his back as he walked past her into the Gilmore house.

Dave shook his head, his shoulders slumped forward. He hadn't seen Lane all vacation. Because of her sickness, she'd never left the house (of course, Ms. Kim had more to do with that). And the nightly phone calls just weren't enough. He was worried about her, and missed her . . . MISSED her at the same time.

"So Rory, where's your mother?" Richard asked, sitting down on the overstuffed couch.

"Still at the Dragonfly. How was your day with the boys?"

"They're beautiful." Emily laughed, "They remind me of Lorelei when she was their age. I don't think I was ever asked as many questions though by her. When she was younger, she always had to figure everything our by herself. If we even gave her a hint, she would give us the silent treatment for a week. But those two, they needed to know everything. And they've got all that energy. I won't be surprised if either one of them ends up curing cancer. And I bet your mother will jump in and exclaim that she was the actual prodigy."

"Gwandma, Gwandpa." Seth and Owen bolted into the sitting room with Tristan trailing behind them calmly.

"Tristan?" Emily asked, obviously surprised by his presence in the Gilmore house. Coupled with the fact that he held in his arms the most precious member of their family, she was amazed.

"Hello Emily. How has your holiday been?" he smiled pressing a kiss to her cheek and shaking Richard's hand.

She was at a loss for words as he shifted Lily in his arms and sent a look towards Rory. She said,

"There are wipes underneath the sink."

He nodded in return, flashed a smile at the astonished Emily and carried Lily upstairs.

"Where's he going?" Richard asked in alarm.

"Lily needs changing."

"I didn't know you guys were friends?" Emily said finally finding her voice. "By the way that you guys were acting at the Gala, I thought you guys were complete strangers."

Dave sent a smirk her way, just as Seth jumped on his stomach, thrusting the air from his lungs and placing a comical look on his face. His eyes had bugged out of his face and his lips had formed a perfect "O" as a gust of air escaped his lungs. Rory shot him a look and returned to her Grandmother's conversation.

"We met up in Paris. I was upset with him during the party, I wasn't talking to him. We're fine now. We're fine . . ."

"It's nice to know that you're dating such a respectable young man," Richard began. "In fact, Janlen and I were talking about you during the Gala. He's very interested in you. Now I know why. He wants to make sure that Tristan isn't-"

"Grandpa, Tristan isn't anything." She gave him a weary smile. "We aren't dating. Janlen knows that."

"Oh Rory," Emily's eyes grew round and a slight frowned drooped her features. "Why don't you date? It's been so long since I've seen you excited about a boy. You're so beautiful . . ."

"Why don't you ask out Tristan?" Dave piped up, sending her a malicious grin.

At that moment, Rory wanted to tear his head from his body. She wanted to fillet his scalp with a needle. She wanted to perform acupuncture on his eyeballs, after cutting off his eyelids, making sure he saw everything. She wanted to test out every torture she'd ever seen on "Alias," and make sure he felt every slice, every prick, every drop of blood escape his body. In fact, she wanted to take a few leaves from Idi Amin's torture book and ask Dave what if felt like to have a live rat in his belly, to feel it crawling up his insides, scratching against his organs, until it took a bite of his still beating heart, until . . . nothing . . .

It didn't matter to her that he was in love with her best friend. It didn't matter to her that he was wearing her favorite of his "Strokes" t-shirt- she'd just remove it first, blood stains were are a bitch to remove. It didn't matter that he was one of her best friends and that he'd made the move to live in France with her and Lane without hesitation. It didn't matter that he was always there for her. It didn't matter to her that her entire social life depended on his band and their venues. Any way it went, she wanted him dead, and she needed him dead right now before the discussion progressed.

"Yes," Emily agreed, stroking Owen's coffee brown curls, siding with a soon to be dead Dave. "Why don't you ask out Tristan? From the way that he was staring at you all night at the Gala, I don't think he'd be able to turn you down. Plus, you guys look so good together. And the sight of him carrying Lily into the room and the look that past between you two, no one could help but assume you guys were together. You guys would be perfect together."

"I'm going to murder you," she mouthed to Dave, her brow raised smoothly.

"I agree," Richard nodded. "He's a smart young man, really making something of himself. Jan even expressed his desire to see you two together. You guys are-"

"Friends, just friends," she rolled her eyes. "So are you guys staying the night?" she changed the subject just as she heard the heavy pounding of feet descending the staircase.

"Yes," Emily nodded, taking the change in subject with stride. "So, what's on the agenda?"

"There's going to be a public goodbye in the Town Square, where we will all assemble and watch 'The Yearling' and Kirk's independent film. And then later, the Gilmore-Danes-DuGrey-Mariano-Kim- and whatever Dave's last name is-"

"Hey!" Dave called.

"-clan will congregate back to this very chamber and watch 'Pretty Woman,' 'Notting Hill,' and whatever other mystery movie Madame Lorelei picks out to torture men everywhere. And then we will awaken tomorrow at two in the morning to fight for the bathroom in order to throw-up the mammoth sized sugar-ball in our stomachs and get ready for the flight back to Paris." Tristan concluded, pressing a kiss to Lily's cheek.

"Sounds like fun," Emily smiled, showing her admiration for the young man.

Rory rolled her eyes and stood up. "I'm going to get something to eat at Luke's I'm starved. If anyone wants to come, you're invited." She called from her bedroom as she searched for her shoes.

* * *

Over the course of two movies, she'd someone found herself sitting in the v of his legs with his arms wrapped around her.

She didn't protest. No one in their right mind would protest to his warm embrace, sweet breath and his head lightly on their shoulder. His chest cradled her back and his fingers drew tiny circles on the palm of her hand.

It was intimate. She knew.

She saw the knowing glances her mother shot Luke throughout the movie. She felt the rapid beating of his heart as she shifted, bringing herself closer to him. She heard the tiny whispers that Dave said to Lane, with their names and a few giggles followed by Lane's raspy voice. She knew about the way Emily and Richard rested against one another, staring at them the entire time. She even felt his arousal, gently pressing against her backside, but ignored it.

It was too much pressure.

Everyone wanting her to be with him, but her own mind told her it was a mistake. She couldn't do this again. She couldn't let herself fall for someone who wouldn't be there to catch her.

Sure he'd told her he cared about her, but when they were tried, would it really last?

She was thrust back into high school.

His scathing retorts and her withering glares. She was a game to him. A sport in which he was determined to succeed. She was more of a challenge to him every time that she said no. And he was more enraptured by her at every rejection. She was soon an obsession. She was his obsession. She would soon be his . . .

Or at least what he had thought.

And now she was a grown up, and so was he.

Maybe the game had changed for him. He was more mature, and he genuinely cared for her . . . but she wasn't ready to risk the chance that maybe he hadn't changed so much.

TBC. . .

A/N: HEY, I updated. So, R&R, and I finally chose a college. So, you can mail my check to . . . whatever. Not a lot to say so have fun and chill out.

W/ luv, Yo-yo


	11. She's Beautiful

Torn -By Yo-yo

Disclaimer: C chappie #1.

Torn XI:

She was warm.

Wrapped in some kind of something. It sent tingles down her spine and gently swept a breeze across her face, playing with tendrils of hair. It consumed her wholly, giving her a sense of completeness, safety ... assurance.

She gently nuzzled closer to the warmth; the sound of a rhythmic beating lulling her back into the depths of slumber. A smile tugged unconsciously at her lips and a glow radiated from her skin. Sinking deeper into the warmth, she was happy.

A few hours later, her eyes fluttered open. Her smile grew wider as she nuzzled into the warmth and whispered,

"Hi."

"Hey," he whispered back, adjusting her on his lap.

She stretched languorously, her body both begging to switch positions and remain in the comforting warmth. She caught a glimpse of the onboard screen and wondered what horrible movie they'd conjured to placate the minds of the restless travelers.

"So, what movie did they play?"

He shook his head and let out a soft yawn.

"I just woke up."

She grinned at that. She loved the way he looked when he had just awakened. His hair was mussed to one side, his bedroom eyes sparkled lazily and his lips always formed a crooked smile.

"You have the chair imprint on your cheek." She giggled, touching him softly.

He closed his eyes when her fingers fused with his skin. His breathing slowed dramatically and she knew why. She could feel it too. It happened every time they touched one another ... even saw one another. Something happened to their bodies. It was as if their bodies yearned for one another.

When she took her hand away, it took him a few moments to open his eyes, and when he did, she was surprised by the intensity of his gaze. It was as if he'd never seen her until that moment. His eyes were wide, almost astonished.

"What?" she asked suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"You're so beautiful."

She looked away from him. She could already feel the blush aflame in her face, dousing her features in red.

Slowly she pulled out of his embrace and settled into her own seat.

"You okay?"

"Fine," she whispered, looking back at him. Her eyes telling him it was so.

"Oh, I have to tell you something," he grinned, his entire being suddenly coming to life.

"What?"

"We've settled it with Adrien. We're moving into the loft. We'll be neighbors."

"Oh, that's great!" she grinned.

"We've got to go shopping for new furniture, but we plan to move in next weekend."

"Did you guys check out the place?"

"Yeah, Adrien let us look at it before the trip."

"I hope you guys get along. And Sophie is really nice."

"That's what he said."

"She really is."

"Hey, I'll be right back, ok?"

She nodded and gave a soft yawn before curling up in his empty seat and closing her eyes. After the realization set in that she wasn't tired anymore, she opened her eyes and looked over at her best friend.

Lane looked almost angelic. She practically glowed encased in Dave's arms as he sporadically pressed kisses to her sleeping head and pulled her body closer still. Her dark hair fell over her beautiful face and her head rested in the crook of Dave's neck. She was curled up in his lap, breathing quietly and clutching on to his shirt as if she expected him to disappear.

"Hey, you thirsty?" Tristan proffered a cup of cranberry juice as he sat down.

She took it wordlessly, never taking her eyes off the couple.

"What you lookin' at?" he asked, noticing her absence.

"I've never seen her this sick before," she sighed. "Sure, there's been the occasionally cold now and then. And there was that time that she was totally convinced she had mono when we were twelve. But usually she was faking it; duping her mom into letting her stay home from school so we could hang out together. Usually it was just teenage fun, ditching-"

"Wait, you ditched school?"

She rolled her eyes, looking at him.

"I'm not a saint."

He raised a brow.

"Once, because- damnit, twice. The first time in junior year to go see Jess in New York. I missed my Mom's graduation from college and everything. I spent three weeks trying to make that one up to her. And the second time was in senior year because Lane conned me into going to Boston to go see some underground band she was in lust with at the time. But that one was parent approved- at least for me."

"Why didn't you just go see Jess during the weekend?"

"Because it was spontaneous and stupid. I think the cast cut off the circulation to my brain because I think I was convinced that I was supposed to be with Jess instead of D-"

"Wait, cast?"

She rolled her eyes again.

"Jess and I got into a minor accident and we totaled the car Dean had built for me. Jess got sent back to New York and I got a fractured wrist. I never got to say goodbye," she shrugged.

"I wish I had gotten a chance to meet that Mary."

"What Mary?"

"The spontaneous, head-over-ass, stammering and babbling, crazy-in-like, Romeo and Juliet, the in-love Mary. I bet she was so cute with her stalker-like ways. I think I would have had fun with her."

She let out an unattractive snort.

"If you'd had it your way, you'd have had fun with every girl you'd ever met."

"The percentages are just getting higher and higher." He smirked.

"Anyway, back to the previous conversation. Lane has never been this sick before. I'm sort of scared."

"I think Lane will be fine. She's made of tougher stuff. You remember that time a brawl broke out in one of the clubs she was playing at. She broke up the fight before the bouncers could even push through the crowd. It's maybe the atmosphere in the states that got her sick."

"Yeah." She sighed, looking at her friend. "But she's beautiful though, isn't she?"

"Yes she is."

For the rest of the flight they conversed over trivial things, smiling as they thought of the trip, Lily and what it felt like to be among family.

* * *

"How was the holiday?" Yolande popped her head in during lunch break. 

She, in fact, had just gotten back from her own holiday a week after Rory, and they had yet to catch up on the office gossip and details of their trips.

"Great," Rory grinned, practically glowing. "Guess who showed up?"

"If it was Johnny Depp, I swear I'm locking you in the storage room and assuming your identity." She frowned.

"No, Tristan and Janlen came with us."

"You had sex, didn't you?" Yolande's brown eyes sparkled.

"No," Rory's face rouged significantly.

"Don't you wish you had?" she raised a brow.

"Shut up."

"So how was it, meeting the parents? That's a big step in the relationship, huh?"

"We're not dating," she shook her head and frowned.

"Just checking," Yolande raised her shoulders. "So, did you tell him about me?"

"We were pretty busy actually. There was lots of babysitting with caffeinated kids-"

"Which means you didn't talk to him," she nodded. "Do you like him or something?"

"Who, Tristan?"

"Yeah? I mean, you guys spend a lot of time together. He went with you to visit your family ... is it that you like him?"

She shook her head, wondering why the question bothered her so much.

Because she knew she was lying.

She did care for Tristan. She had admitted it to him at the Gala. But why couldn't she admit it to other people. Was she really that ashamed ... that scared of being with someone so ... so not what she was used to? Was she so introverted that she couldn't try to move past her comfort zone and pursue the one person that understood her better than her mother? Why couldn't she admit to what her heart and body had been consumed in for months now? Why did she hide behind her fears ... why did she care so much about what others thought?

Pushing her hair away from her face she said,

"It's just he's told me he's interested in someone else, and I don't want him to overload himself. You know he's taking care of his Grandfather?"

"Yeah, I-"

"Hello ladies," M. Duval walked into the messy cubicle and smiled at Yolande and Rory, "I'd like you to meet Joseph Hewitt. Joseph, I'd like you to meet Lorelei Gilmore who will be working with you on the St. Nicholas Memorial Hospital and this is another colleague, Yolande Reynard."

From behind M. Duval stepped a young man who made both Yolande and Rory draw their breath. He was hardly a regular Joe, pun intended. He stood a respectable six feet, with dark, almost black curls that fell over his stunning, green eyes. His jaw was handsomely defined and his face was covered in manly stubble, making the thought of just running their fingers along the soft prickliness of him almost irresistible. He was gorgeous. He was- Working with Rory on the Hospital project!

"Pardon," she grinned standing from her seat and proffering her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine," he grinned pressing a kiss to her knuckles, his eyes twinkling beautifully.

"Well, I'll leave you to get back to work." Duval winked, knowing that both she and Yolande hadn't been talking about work.

"Lorelei, I'll be speaking to you later." Yolande grinned, stepping behind him to get back to her desk. Just before she left, she mouthed, "Je tu detest."

"So you are Lorelei Gilmore?" he said taking the seat she showed him to. "I've been reading your pieces since you'd first arrived on the scene. I personally asked for you, although M. Duval had a few qualms."

"He did?" she raised a brow, obviously not impressed.

"Because you're so young, he didn't know if you could handle the piece." He explained, seeing her grow pink with an expression he had yet to discover a name.

"Well I can." She pulled out a folder that began her research, "In fact ..."

* * *

"Bonsoir Janlen," she breezed into the loft with a dreamy grin on her face. 

"Wow, look at you," Jan grinned, stirring the simmering concoction on the stove.

"You're making me dinner?"

"You, Lane, same person," he waved around the wooden spoon with a grin on his face.

"How's she been?"

"Hungry," he looked back down into the pot. "The fever has gone down, and she's done with the sneezing phase. She threw up only once this morning. I'm not a doctor, but I can say surely, she is on the road to recovery."

"If only she was a drug addict," Rory grinned, pressing a kiss to his cheek and setting her bag on the other side of the counter.

"So what has you grinning like you're Charlie and just found a gold ticket in your Willy Wonka bar?"

"You remember that story I told you and Tristan about, the new one?"

"Yes, about the children's hospital right?" he nodded, pulling her over so that she could grasp the spoon and stir the soup.

"Well, I just met whom I'll be working with and-"

"He's really charming."

Her eyes lifted to meet his. His blue eyes looked strangely guarded as they regarded in the same way she watched him.

"How do you know it was a he?"

"Unless you're a lesbian now, no one could make you smile like that unless he was a very charming he."

"Jan," she frowned, "it isn't like that."

"Are you going to tell Tristan?"

"Why do I have to tell Tristan?"

"Well, he might get suspicious with you grinning all over the place like a whimsical teenager. He might even start to think that it's because of him your eyes twinkle like that."

"Janlen-"

"I need to go."

Her eyes were wide as he grabbed his robe from the sitting room couch, unraveled his apron and left it on the floor behind the close door.

"Merde," she groaned, knowing she'd upset him; just not understanding how.

"I'm hungry," a voice called through the closed bedroom door.

"In a minute," Rory groaned, taking a ladle to the soup and wondering why Janlen was angry and what she could do to fix it.

TBC ...

A/N: I hoped you guys like the chapter. I know that it's been awhile since I last updated, but don't worry, I'm still here and just thinking up new ways to begin these chapters. Review please; I want to know what you guys think of this chapter. I know the ending and the part with Joseph was a little unexpected considering she was sort of on the brink of realizing what she feels for Tristan, but maybe Joseph is a godsend, or maybe he's the bane of everyone's existence. Well whatever.

R&R...

W/ Luv, Yo-yo


	12. Fireworks

Torn

-By Yo-yo

Disclaimer:C chappie #1.

Fireworks:

"This is better than actually being there," a voice whispered in the dark.

She didn't say anything as she watched the starbursts paint the sky. Their fairy lights fell, like the moon's teardrops, enveloping her in a way she never knew possible.

She had a new respect for fireworks.

As a child, they were exciting, unpredictable. They whizzed and ignited in the sky, exploding in the most beautiful displays of light. Their loud booming jolted her juvenile heart, broadening the smile on her face.

Their novelty faded. As she grew older, the spectacular display of human ingenuity had lost its luster. They were all the same, every time mediocre. Every year, the same thing. The monotony consumed her, and the need to see the displays weaned.

But right now the fireworks were awesome. It was the combination of his arm wrapped around her shoulder, sitting atop a blanket on a rooftop garden, eating cheese and drinking cheap wine, watching the Eiffel Tower fireworks with his hand enclosing hers. It was the feeling of adventure, wrapped in the comfort of the night. It was incredible.

Her favorites were the tiny white lights that revealed their attendance by bursting into the sky. They glittered and whizzed around in the sky, mimicking the stars, leaving her in utter awe.

She was bathing in total bliss as the hand she held squeezed hers and the arm around her shoulders pulled her closer.

"You cold?" the voice whispered, she shivered deliciously, loving the feel of him this close to her.

She shook her head and bit her lip, not looking up at him.

She knew what would happen if their eyes connected. She knew that his lips would find hers and she'd completely give herself to him, waving the white flag of surrender as her fingers found their place in his lush hair and his fingertips grazed his skin making her tingle.

She knew what would happen if she let herself fall… and she wasn't going to let it just happen.

She kept her gaze on the Eiffel Tower as she pulled her legs to her chest resting her chin on his knees.

She was a grown up now.

She had to take responsibility for what she was doing. Her decisions now meant something and how she made those decisions also meant something. She wasn't a kid anymore… she had to stop thinking like a naïve kid.

She turned her head and there she sat, his eyes twinkling and widening with each burst of light to illuminate the sky. His lips were slightly opened and turned up in a smile. He was a grown up too.

She didn't think as her free hand reached up and touched his cheek. When his eyes met hers, she could see the confusion mixed with astonishment settle in their depths. Yet she didn't acknowledge them as she followed the contours of his cheekbone with the tips of her fingers. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the way he felt, it was as if she were reading brail. Her fingers grazed over the tiny prickly hairs of his cheeks, over his strong jawbone, and caressed his soft lips. It wasn't until she felt his breath utter her name that she opened her eyes and found him so very close to her.

Cough, cough

The spell was broken and she looked away. Rouge drowned her face as she stared straight ahead, bringing both her hands to wrap themselves around her.

She shouldn't have done that… she wasn't that grown up.

Cough, cough

"Jan, are you okay?" she didn't turn to look at him.

"Are you cold?" he asked, going to the aging man.

"I'm sure you are, let's get you back inside." He helped Jan up.

He was still upset with her. In fact, he hadn't spoken to her since the day he stormed out of the apartment. Tristan mistook his silence for a sign that his Grandfather was ill and had been spending his time doting over him. In fact, Janlen was the reason for her momentary insanity. If it weren't for the fact that Jan had wanted to stay in for Independence Day, she wouldn't have been put in this predicament. Tristan was so concerned for Jan that he coaxed him into spending the holiday upstairs. Instead of being with the masses on the lawn of the Eiffel Tower, Rory, Tristan, Janlen and a few of their neighbors opted for prime seating atop their building.

She still hadn't figured out what was bothering him, but her mind was on other things right now. Like why every time there were fireworks, she and Tristan seemed ready to kiss.

"Hey, are you ready to head in?" Tristan asked, returning to his seat beside her.

She shook her head. "You go in, I'm going to stay out a bit longer… but I'll be fine."

He shook his head. "Nuh, uh, I'm staying with you."

He placed a kiss to her temple and returned his eyes to the flashing lights.

* * *

Her eyes perused the blueprint in front of her trying to understand the intersecting lines and curved edges. The first floor excited her, all the possibilities laid out before her eyes, and so many people with the heart to accomplish it. But she had no idea what they had in store for the building because she could not decipher the plans. 

"…So they're going to place the- next to the- why exactly?"

Joseph chuckled slightly at her contorted face. He moved his seat closer to hers and leaned closer.

"You know, Lorelei, you're quite useless in these situations."

She frowned slightly, "Well thanks, I had no idea."

"Non," he grinned, "I didn't mean to upset you; I was trying to poke fun at you."

"I know, but we've been staring at these blueprints all day, and I have yet to understand half of what we've been going over. I'm sorry that I didn't take architecture in school, but my stick figures look ambiguous, how in the hell am I supposed to construct a house? I just don't get this." She stared at the prints and bit on her thumb.

"You're very sensitive right now," he rubbed her back, slowly. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, just frustrated," she sighed, "Do you want to eat now, maybe a break will help?"

"That'll be good, do you want to eat in or go out?"

"I think in will be best…"

"How about we spend a few more minutes going over this? Then we'll order."

She rolled her eyes and stretched. Rolling back her shoulders she stretched her neck and sighed, "Let's go."

"Well…?" Joseph began but was interrupted by a knock.

"Lorelei," M. Duval tucked his head inside the door. "I was wondering do you have the files on the Dubai story?"

"Eh oui," she faked a grin, and Joseph took his hand from her. "It's at my desk, do you need it now?"

"Oui," he checked his watch. "Why don't you two take a break and you can hand me the files on your way to lunch?"

"We're eating lunch in," Joseph turned to Rory. "Don't worry; I'll just look around for those damn files I lost."

"You should," she grinned standing up from her seat.

M. Duval left them as she began to gather files.

"What do you want for lunch?"

"Uh, what's on the menu?"

"Salads, sandwiches, soups, pastas…anything you could think of."

"Chicken Marsala?"

"I think they have it?"

"I'll be back," she nodded, pushing the door open.

Today had been a grueling day. After throwing up after Rory's shower Lane ran back into her room crying. When Rory asked her what was wrong, she wouldn't respond. Janlen still wasn't talking to her and had given her the cold shoulder when she ran into his apartment this morning looking for Tristan. And now she couldn't even understand her job.

What she needed now was something warm to wrap herself in. She needed a bath. She needed a warm cup of coffee. She needed a blanket. She needed her fire. She needed Mocha. She needed her bed. She needed something...she needed some-

She shook her head just a bit and was just about to enter her cubicle when she ran into a chest.

"Pardon," she apologized, falling to her knees to gather the fallen files.

_Damn_, she thought to herself, _now on top of it all,_ _I have to re-file everything_.

"I'm sorry, Mary."

She looked up in disbelief and a tear spilled from her eye.

"Tristan, man, what are you doing here?"

He'd never visited her at work before. He'd insisted that he didn't want to be in a newsroom. He didn't want the reporters to hound him.

"I came to find you to eat lunch with me," he stroked the tear away. "Ça va?"

"Rien de," she shook her head and smiled.

"Then why are you crying," he asked softly.

"No crying, a tear."

"Itlooks like a sad tear," he brushed it away.

"It's just the tiniest bout of ennui," she shrugged.

"Do you want me to make you laugh? That clears up my ennui sometimes."

"Sure," she shrugged, not looking away.

"So there's a blonde and a brunette sitting next to one another on a train. The blonde says to the brunette, 'Where are you from?' The brunette says, 'A place that doesn't end a sentence with a preposition. So the blonde thinks for a moment then turns back to the brunette and says, 'So, where are you from, Bitch!'"

Another tear dropped from her eye.

"Ok, that didn't help, let me try something else."

He helped her stand up after they finished picking up the files. She pushed her hair from her face, giving a watery smile.

Before he could think up anything he whistled,

"I've never seen this outfit before, is it new?"

She nodded, pulling on her blouse.

"You should wear it more often," he appraised her. His eyes thoroughly devouring her outfit, "When we start dating, make sure you wear that outfit to bed. You look absolutely delicious."

"That's 'cause you're hungry."

"C'meer," he grabbed her and pulled her into a hug. "Don't worry. Maybe you just need a day off?"

"No, I just got back from vacation." She held on to him.

"Ok, maybe a weekend," he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "But seriously, for our hot and heavy weekend, I want you to wear this outfit. I'll be the naughty school boy who accidentally stole a book, and you're the librarian with no morals and a ruler."

Her body shook with silent chuckles, and he grinned.

"By Jove, I've done it!"

"So, you like role playing?" She pulled away from him and wiped away her tears.

"Just as long as my role requires studying under or on top of Librarian Gilmore."

"You need to get laid," she grinned.

"Are you offering?"

"In your dreams."

"Every night, so are you ready for lunch or do you just want to skip the meal and go straight to sex?"

"I can't," she shook her head. "I'm eating in with one of my colleagues."

"C'mon Miss Gilmore, there's sex and salad involved...and I promise to steal another book."

"I'm sorry," she laughed, "I wish I could, but we're just working on this- thing I don't understand."

"Yea, whatever," he frowned, putting the files on her desk. "I'll see you later, we'll have dinner?"

"At my place?" she nodded.

"Yea, Chinese or Italian?"

"How 'bout American? I feel like having you on my plate."

"That's cool, you provide the whip cream, I'll bring the hot body." He chuckled pressing a kiss to her forehead before turning to leave. "Bye."

"See ya." She watched him go.

"Lorelei, the files," M. Duval called from the intercom.

"Pardon," she called, finding it on top of the file cabinet.

When she walked back into the meeting room Joseph stood up as she closed the door.

"I hear the American came in to see you?"

"God, you did?" she laughed, thinking about their sexually laced conversation and growing red.

"It's all around the office. I saw him hug you. Est-ce qu'il est votre petit ami?"

"Non, il est mon ami."

She didn't catch the look of relief on his face.

* * *

"Laney, I brought you some soup," Rory called as she entered the apartment. 

Mocha bounded around her legs, barking loudly as she closed the door.

"Hey babe, nice to see you too," she put the brown paper bag on the counter. "Have you been fed yet?"

"Yea," Lane's voice emerged.

Rory looked up and gasped. She looked so pale…almost sick. She wore a heavy wool sweater and her nose and eyes were red and puffy.

"Have you been crying?"

Lane nodded, her mussed hair tumbling over her eyes.

"What's wrong sweetie?" she walked over to her best friend and wrapped her arms around her neck.

She didn't say anything. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a white stick.

"Is this a-?"

Lane nodded in her arms.

"Did you-?"

She nodded again.

"And you put it in your pocket?"

Lane nodded and cried,"Ewww!"

"What did it say?"

"Read it yourself dummy!" Lane laughed through her tears.

She looked down at the white stick and saw-

Fireworks...

TBC…

A/N: Sorry this took so long, but I'm finding it hard to write in college. Well, read and review please. You're really good at giving me ideas. What does Lane's fireworks mean? Read and see.

w/ luv,

Yo-yo


	13. The Problems with Getting Older

Torn

-By Yo-yo

Disclaimer:C chappie #1.

Chapter 13- The Problems with Getting Older:

She brought the glass of wine up to her lips.

"Is it bad that I'm relieved?"

"No," Rory turned to her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "At least now you know. It was the smart thing to do."

"God, but what am I going to do? I've got to tell Dave, I just can't not tell him."

"Yea… how do you feel about this?"

"Scared… I want my Mommy… wait, scratch that, I want your Mommy."

"Is it okay if I fill in for now?"

"Yea," Lane brought the glass to her lips and took another sip. "Thanks best friend."

"Anything for you," she placed another kiss to her forehead and stared into the lit fireplace.

The flames danced in the fireplace in the warmth of the summer night. The warm air they could not feel as the enormity of the night consumed their thoughts and being. But the flames they could see seemed to touch them in the way the invisible air couldn't. Those flames traced warmth around their bodies, leaving only their troubles.

"Remember the first time that we'd broken up?" she whispered an hour later, dropping another tissue on the floor.

"Yea," she giggled a little.

"It was so stupid. My mom liked him, and I couldn't take it. And I picked a stupid fight with him, accusing him of just being with me because he wanted to lay me… I was such a teenager. Trying to make something out of nothing, putting so much emphasis on the trivial," she began to cry. "I realized that I loved him then… did you know?"

"Yea," she sniffled. "I realized when you came to my house crying. Remember you'd ranted for an hour and a half about how he was so transparent? How he'd play music for your mom's church just to be near you. How he'd hold band practice an extra half hour over just so he could sit close to you when you were writing songs together. How he'd pretend to be perplexed by notes on sheet music just to touch your fingers. How he'd stare at you in classes and make excuses to eat lunch with you. I think you were more transparent. I knew you were in love with him from then."

"Why didn't you tell me? I was such a basket case. I could barely survive that week of being apart-"

"I know, you were at my house every day… those puffy eyes and the three gallons of ice cream that you'd eaten from my freezer proved that to Mom and me."

"He loves me back."

"I know… everyone knows. Even Mama Kim knows, she would not have let you guys keep dating if she didn't."

"What's going to happen?"

Her voice was barely a breath, but with the only the sporadic crackling of the fire to break the stillness of the air, she heard.

Sorrow flushed through her as she turned her body to face her best friend who'd curled up on the sofa, with a tissue pressed to her nose.

"He's going to press a kiss to your forehead and tell you that he loves you."

"But will he?" Lane's dark eyes stared back into her friends, doubt filling her tears, tumbling down her cheeks.

"Don't you dare start doubting him now, Lane. You've been together for too many years and have experienced way too much to start being suspicious of his intentions now. That man loves you. He has always has and you have no reason to believe him to ever want to hurt you. He's going to do this right. He's not that guy, Lane. He's the Dave you've always known… he's not going to change."

No response came from her best friend as another tear trailed its way from her eye. She turned her eyes back into the fire, finding comfort in the eerie shadows they made.

* * *

He'd entered the apartment with a bottle of wine and a song in his head only to find her sitting on the floor staring at the fire and Lane lying on the couch, tissues on the floor before her.

He watched as her eyes found his, hers twinkling with unshed tears as she took him into the study and told him she'd have to take a rain check on their dinner tonight. When he'd asked her why, afraid her ennui during the day had seeped into her night, she told him she couldn't say and pressed a kiss to his cheek. With that, she had led him out of the apartment, sending an apologetic look before she closed the door softly in his face.

He could feel the eerie sadness that held the apartment. Even Mocha, who sat at Lane's feet, was silent as he laid his head on his paws and stared at nothing.

The melancholy seemed to permeate everything in the apartment. He felt it as he entered. It lay on his skin. It filled his nostrils. The sadness leaving the air heavy and stale as it remained in his lungs, even now. It shown in her eyes, her baby blues wanted to let go and yet she suppressed the urge. The dimness in the apartment from the roaring fire and few lighted candles dispersed the woe throughout the room. The gloom he felt sobering him even before she could cancel the date.

He wanted to know why. He wanted to know what made her cry. What made Lane sniffle so? What kept Mocha from bounding to the door when he'd come?

Wrapped in his thoughts, he pulled his blanket closer up his body as he stared out his window, staring at nothing.

Suddenly, a soft rapping came from his door.

"Come in," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry to wake you," she peeked her head in the door. "I just wanted to say sorry about tonight."

"What was wrong?"

She tiptoed to his bed and crawled beneath the covers, burying her face in his shoulder where he soon felt hot tears soaking his skin.

"I can't say," she sniffled and he wrapped his arms around her trembling frame. "I just…I just needed you. Is it okay if I stay here?"

"Yea," he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Do you want to talk?"

"Not now," she mumbled, the tears still falling and his body still cradling hers.

He held her as her tears subsided. He held her as her body uncoiled from its taut sadness and she relaxed to him. He held her as she began to breathe evenly. He held her even when he believed she was asleep. It wasn't until an hour later that he heard her voice again.

"Are you awake?" she whispered, moving her head from its position in his shoulder.

"Yea," he pressed another kiss to the top of her head.

"I'm sorry for coming here like this; I know this is the last thing that you'd want."

"No," he breathed, hoping she did not look in his eyes to see the truth in them. "When you need me, I'm always here for you."

"It's just that, god, things have been going okay, but today was so bad. I was just so… depressed. And then I get home, and Lane is going through the same thing… only her sadness is so concrete, so tangible, and I felt so small. I felt so sad, for Lane, for me, for Dave for-"

"Is she okay?" panic entered his voice now.

What was she saying?

"No… she's okay. She's fine…" she pressed a kiss to his chest. "Don't worry."

"Kay…"

"We're growing up, ya' know."

"Yea," he pushed her hair from her face. "I know how you're feeling. It's daunting."

"I wish we were dating right now," she breathed, but he'd heard.

"Why?"

She didn't say as she pressed another kiss to his chest, and brought her body closer to his. Her tears had subsided, but her body still trembled. He couldn't tell if the trembling was from the emotion that still rippled throughout her frame, or if it was another type of emotion that was slowly making its way through his as well.

"Mary," he breathed as she pressed another kiss to his chest, the pads of her fingers igniting little burst of warmth where they met his skin.

"Rory," he moaned, a little time later when her lips moved themselves against the column of his neck, her tongue tasting him and her teeth gently nipping as her fingers trailed his chest, tracing circles around his nipples, driving him crazy.

"Please," she whispered moving over him, her lips moving from his neck, up to the sensitive spot right below his ear that caused him to groan and lift his pelvis to her. "Please," she breathed again, this time moving to his Adam's Apple which she took into her mouth and began to suck on, causing her name to fly from his lips and disperse into the air above them.

His eyes screwed shut and his hands left her body to grip the sheets as wave after wave of passion rolled over him. It was her, the girl he'd wanted since he was too young to understand what she truly meant to him. This was the woman he'd met a few months ago and had fallen in love with in mere seconds. This was the woman he was supposed to marry. This was the love he couldn't live without. And she was lying on top of him, asking him to touch her in the ways he'd dreamed about. She was willing to do the things he'd wished for when he was in high school that left his sheets wet in the morning. She was begging him to make her feel … something.

She needed to feel something, and he knew this wasn't what she needed.

She straddled his hips at this point, her lips hovering over his, brushing over them every few moments, nipping, licking and causing him to moan into her soft kisses. Her pelvis pressed into his, intimating an act that under the circumstances he felt extremely disappointed he could not carry out.

"Rory," he groaned, his eyes finally open and his hands moved to grip her hips and gently move her away.

"Please," she breathed, a soft whimper coming from his lips at the loss of contact.

"Can you look me in the eye?" he asked her, stroking her arm as the frustration on her face melted, and her eyes fell to his. "I don't want it to happen like this."

She squirmed a little, trying to press herself closer to him, for warmth or to touch him again, he did not know.

"I wish we were dating too, because it is really hard for me to stop this, but we can't. If we are going to start something, I don't want it to be like this."

"I need you."

"No, you can't do this. If you want to be with me, we'll be together. But we're doing it right. If you don't want to be with me, then you can't come my bed at night, you can't ask me to do something like this. You can't…"

"I want to be with you," she breathed, her eyes burrowing into his. "I want to touch you. I want you to be able to hold me," she looked away, "but I c-"

"That's fine, I can accept that…"

"I'm sorry," she pulled away, tears welling in her eyes as she moved from beneath the covers, out of the bed.

"No," he grabbed her arm. "You need me and I'm here for you."

He pulled her back into her previous position, curled up to him and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"Let's just sleep."

She nodded against him, tears still spilling from her eyes as she clung to him.

"I'm sorry," she let a whisper escape in the night.

She stayed like that all night, wrapped in his arms until that morning, when the air in the room ushered in the soft melody of Adrien's aubade'.

* * *

"The construction seems to be going well," she nodded to Joseph as they made their way back to the office after inspecting the worksite. All throughout the walk she had been self-consciously brushing away imaginary dust from the worksite.

"Show's all you know," he smirked, "they're a week behind schedule."

"I never played with Legos as a child, okay. What do I know about steel beams and piping?"

"Obviously nothing," he stopped to let her through the door for the high-rise. "And stop brushing yourself off, there's nothing there."

She stuck out her tongue at him as she pushed through the revolving door. In the elevator he poked her in the side in retaliation.

"You're mean, I don't like you anymore," she smiled, moving away from him. At the next floor five people filed into the elevator and they were reduced to making faces at one another from separated ends of the chamber.

When they'd left the elevator car, a few of the women left raised their brows.

"I'm starving," she gripped her stomach as it made a loud growl.

"Aren't you always?" he smirked as they made their way past the front desk.

"Lorelei et Joseph," Chanel called out to them. "M. Duval and the partners are waiting for you in the board room."

"Merci," Rory followed Joseph down the hall.

An hour later, Joseph and Rory remained in the board room, waiting for lunch as they chatted.

"…How are you feeling today?" he smiled remembering her unusual mood yesterday.

"Comme ci comme ça," she shook her head, remembering last night's occurrence.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he shifted closer, responding as her eyes traveled away from him, acknowledging she was hiding something.

"Non," she looked up to find him close to her, his face merely inches away.

"J'ai ai voulu vous demander quelque chose depuis que je vous ai recontre." '' He breathed moving closer, his breathing deep as his eyes kept darting for her lips.

"Qu-?"

Before she could finish, his lips pressed themselves to hers…

* * *

"Bonsoir, M. DuGrey," the receptionist greeted him as he entered the office.

"Good afternoon, Chanel," he smiled. "I'm here to take Lorelei to lunch, is she in?"

"Oui, she just got out of a meeting, she should be at her desk."

"Merci."

He made his way through the maze of cubicles on the bustling news floor, trying to find the one with its own coffeemaker and black and white photographs of the people she loved pinned all over the walls. He finally recognized the small area to be hers when he read the name tag stapled to the carpeted walls that read "Lorelei 'Rory' Gilmore" in bright pink script with glitter and stickers… Lorelei's handiwork.

He stuck his head in to find it empty.

"Rory," Yolande entered, thumbing through an oversized magazine. "I was reading this article an-"

She looked up and stopped abruptly to keep herself from knocking into him.

"Bonsoir," she grinned, her eyes running over him as this was the first time she'd ever gotten close to him.

"Bonsoir, Je suis Tristan DuGrey," he proferred her hand.

"Je connais," she smiled shaking his hand. "I do work in a newspaper, and your name has been floating around a lot lately."

"At least not in the tabloids," he smirks.

"Well then obviously you're not up-to-date on your tabloids. I've seen your face at least three times in the supermarket."

"And yet, I've never seen yours."

"Je m'appelle Yolande."

"I know you, Rory talks about you all the time."

"She does?" her eyebrows shooting up. "She never said-"

"She really enjoys working with you."

"And I reciprocate that compliment," she pushed her hair away from her eyes.

"Are you here to see her?"

"Yes, I wanted to take her to lunch, she's been down these last couple of days."

"I see, well she should be here. Although she did just get out of a meeting… maybe we should check the board room?"

Yolande took the lead, not forgetting to sway her hips as she made her way to the board room, smiling at the prospect of going on a date with the fine specimen trailing behind her.

"There she is," her voiced trailed off at the sight of Rory and Joseph locked in a seemingly heavy lip-lock.

TBC…

Written w/ luv, Yo-yo

'aubade- A song or poem greeting the dawn; also, a composition suggestive of morning (word of the day, March 21, 2006)

''"I've been wanting to ask you something since I first met you."


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